


Ineffable Entropy

by Dracoravebird



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crowley Was Kokabiel Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley Was Not Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Egregore, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gabriel Has a Penis (Good Omens), Gabriel Redemption (Good Omens), Guardian Angels, Headcanon, I'll try to tag more issues in the notes as i go, Mild Gore, OC has a vulva, Post-Canon, Sex, Slow Burn, still surprised those are tags but i guess since they can change "efforts"...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 71,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24930241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoravebird/pseuds/Dracoravebird
Summary: If one were to encounter the demon Xaslem, one may note she appeared much younger than other ethereal beings. Other impressions included that she was sarcastic, cavalier, cynical, and often hid her hands in her pockets.She always seemed distracted, as her mind tended to wander while she clacked hard candy between her teeth. But she bore a casual air about her. Approachable, with dark, tastefully ragged clothing. Moreover, she was always a good person to ask for directions, as she was the sort of person who always knew where she was going, how she was getting there, and when she would arrive.Then again… she didn’t know EVERYTHING. Certainly not that she’d get a phone call from her boss while having tea with her good friends Crowley and Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Dagon (Good Omens), Gabriel (Good Omens)/Original Female Character(s), OC/OC
Comments: 15
Kudos: 11





	1. Foreword

Firstly, Gabriel’s appearances are always brief, so I feel I have a little wiggle-room with parts of his personality that went unrevealed.

Second, I’m using feminine pronouns for Beelzebub. I know they’re supposed to be gender neutral, but I couldn’t make it work. Sorry.

Third, I am NOT a theologist, or in any way a religious expert. I did research, but there will still be errors.

Fourth, this does NOT reflect my personal beliefs in any way. I just wanted to write fan fiction.

The rest of this is just a list of ranks, terms, and such that will be used in this fanfiction. This isn’t accurate to any one theology or mythology because multiple religions have angels/ demons or some version of them, and this is just what felt right to me based on what I found online.

Angel Ranks (Least to Most Powerful)  
— Angel  
— Principality  
— Powers  
— Virtues  
— Dominions  
— Thrones  
— Cherubim  
— Seraphim

The term Archangel is a title, referring to angels who are “closest to God.” This title is often symbolized by the fact archangels have six wings, denoting them as special. In this fanfic, it’s also rank afforded to angels put in charge of things. For example, Gabriel is an Arch-Cherub, as he runs Heaven’s military operations, or Metatron is Arch-Seraph because he’s the Voice of God and runs Heaven as a whole. Archangel itself can also refer to an angel placed in a position of power, so again, a title.

Once, there were also “Egregori,” or “Watchers,” or “Guardian Angels.” In this fanfic, these were disbanded after the Ark. Guardian Angels are no longer a rank and no longer exist, considered redundant to Principalities and Cherubs.

Hell’s rankings are a bit more complicated, so I kind of winged it and came up with something. The Dukes are demons whom have proven themselves capable, and are given rule over one of the eight circles not ruled by Satan. Example, Hastur is Duke of Violence and Ligur is Duke of Anger, etc. Their ranks are less set in stone, and they occasionally have to fight to keep it when challenged by someone wanting their spot. Being Prince, Beelzebub’s rank is a direct mirror of Gabriel’s rank. Beelzebub is in charge of Hell’s military forces (which makes sense because they’re a fallen Cherub). Demons are also divided into houses or orders. For example, Beelzebub rules a house called the Order of the Fly.  
Other Terms (More for my own reference than anything else.)

— The ether is a plane of existence between other dimensions, and where an angel or demon’s wings are tucked into when not in use. It is the insulating space between Heaven, Hell, Earth, and Purgatory.

— Celestial refers to things of an angelic nature. Occult refers to things of a demonic nature. 

— Celestial form is an angel’s true form. This form cannot discorporate, but can die. This form often has a halo crest that sprouts from the brows or temples and rests slanted back above the head.

— Demonic aspect refers both to a demon’s symbolic animal, and their true forms as demons. This demonic aspect completely replaces but still vaguely resembles their former Celestial forms. The halo is broken, and either shatters and is completely destroyed/ disintegrates/ evaporates, or the halo breaks apart to create horns.

— Grace is a holy, celestial energy all angels possess. When their Grace is removed, they become demons.

— Divine Fury is angelic energy, different from Grace, and fuels angelic miracles, as well as celestial attacks and magic. Hellish Rebuke is demonic energy that fuels demonic miracles, and occult attacks and magic. Both of these are used to heal themselves and smite others, as well.


	2. Purgatorio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the purposes of this fic, Metatron looks like the Merovingian from the Matrix Reloaded (2003). My main OC, Xaslem, looks like Alice (from Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland, 2010), but with black, wavy hair instead, and looks 26 years old. Samyaza looks like Jadis from Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe (2005). Samael looks like Xerxes from 300 (2006), but wearing a knee-length shendyt.

*** After the War of Heaven, after Adam and Eve were cast out, but before Noah’s Ark… ***

Gabriel barely recognized Purgatory as he neared it, the Archangel gliding smoothly on thermals coming up off the desert of stardust dunes.

The churning sand sang at a constant hum around the great mountain that Eden perched upon, a rainbow bridge leading from the mountain downwards into clouds beyond. The middle-ground. The land between Heaven, Hell, and Earth. It had been many years – Decades? Centuries? He didn’t keep track. – since Adam and Eve had been cast out. But the Egregore remained.

A monastery had been erected. The Sacred Tree had grown into a towering thing, a monolith that the Guardian Angels painted murals and odd runes across the roots and lower trunk of. Six wings rippling behind him, Gabriel landed on the steps of Purgatory’s monastery.

He didn’t have to wait long at all. The doors swung open, and Samael emerged.

The sight of him made Gabriel… uncomfortable. Seraphim Samael made no effort to hide his Celestial nature, towering over humans, and other angel’s corporations. Decked in jewelry and chains, and a gold-embroidered shendyt under a belt of scale-mail armor. His nails were painted, his flesh pierced, and a dark outline tattooed round his eyes. All eight wings were out in the open. The largest wings Gabriel had personally seen, resembling those of a bearded vulture. So large that primary feathers dragged the ground behind him like a cloak. It seemed boastful. Glamorized. Inappropriate for someone of his station.

“Ah. Arch-Cherub Gabriel.” Samael didn’t sound surprised at all. “What brings you here?”

“I bring a message.” Gabriel pulled the scroll from his belt and handed it to him.

“Mm. I see. I will read this over. It will take some time, from the size.” He frowned, almost sneered at the sight of Metatron’s seal, before offering the Archangel a smile. “Go. Have a walk. I’ll call for you when I am ready.”

Though he opened his mouth to protest, the Seraph had already turned away and walked back inside. He saw no reason to walk around. His closest friend had fallen with both his brothers. The Egregore Cherub, Gadreel, had become Beelzebub. Just as Lucifer had become Satan, and Kokabiel had become Crawley. There was no one else here he cared to socialize with.

Still, he heaved a sigh, turned, and started walking. There was nothing else for it, as Samael seemed intent on taking his time.

Eden was flourishing on, even without human presence. The Egregore were to guard it, just as they were to guard humanity. There were great swaths of forest, jungle, bamboo groves, stone arches, cliffs, canyons, waterfalls… Fantastical landscape that Earth didn’t possess. Not to the same scale, anyhow.

Even with the tree line in the way, he could see the top of the Sacred Tree, where the Forbidden Fruit grew. Not quite peaches, not really apples, with shimmering iridescent skin. To his relief, the Egregore were leaving the fruit alone, though some of them lounged amidst the branches.

Passing a forge hidden in a rocky grotto, he spied Samyaza working metal, forging something, though he couldn’t see what. She was talking with Penemue, who was developing yet another alphabet, his face hidden and shaded from the sun by his hood.

From there, he came to a crossroads in the path, and paused. Someone was singing. Softly so. The words weren’t one he recognized, but the voice itself was rather… lovely. It emanated from the path at his left, a long tunnel of wisteria and honeysuckle. And Gabriel hesitated only briefly before following it. At the end of the path was a grassy grove. And in that grove, and Egregore he didn’t recognize.

Raven hair, soft brown eyes, pale skin smattered in freckles. Short, only five feet tall or so, with noticeable curves. Her robe was little more than a sand-colored shawl with two stripes by the hem, one blue and one orange. Draped over one shoulder, one side low enough to reach her knee and the other her ankle, but the section along her chest barely covering both her breasts. Round her neck was an intricate chain of copper, which represented Purgatory just as iron represented Hell, and gold Heaven. Folded neatly behind her was a pair of sleek, clever-looking wings of brown, tan, and cream with bold striping, and cool-grey backs.

She was arranging rocks in a circle around the grove, each evenly spaced. Only when she stopped to pick up a crystal pitcher of water did she notice him. And she smiled.

Gabriel stared.

“Most people start off with ‘hello.’” She snickered, smirking.

“Oh. Yes. Hello.” Gabriel cleared his throat, cheeks coloring slightly.

An airy little laugh left her. Rather than pour the pitcher, she reached a hand in and began sprinkling dew between the stones. Mushrooms and flowers sprung up.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a circle. Not sure why, yet. Just felt like it.” She shrugged, and peered at him. “Who’re you?”

“Archangel Gabriel.” He straightened, wings repositioning behind him. “You are…?”

“Zahrandiel.”

Even her name had an almost musical ring in his ears.

She observed him. Tall, and broad in the shoulders. Well-built and strong, with dark brown hair that reflected silver in the right light. Brown eyes had a glint of lilac to them. While not in armor, his attire was functional, as she would expect for a Cherub. A thick, knee-length tunic with elbow-length sleeves, hems embroidered in gold. A pale, lavender chlamys was worn over, embroidered with silver hems and pinned closed with a brooch like a wing and a sword. He was handsome, though. And his wings were likewise handsome. Quite large and powerful. They looked like the wings of a galah parrot, but a pale white, silver-edged with a patch of inner coverts that were a pastel purple.

“What brings you here, then, Gabriel?”

“I was delivering a message to Samael. He insisted I have a walk while he reads over said message.” He supplied, watching her set the pitcher aside. “I heard you singing.”

Zahrandiel grinned, then, biting the corner of her thumb before taking his hand and leading him out of the grove. “Come on.”

“Where to, exactly?” He arched a brow.

“I want to fly with you.”

Gabriel halted, and she with him, gazing back at him. “Why?”

“Because I like you. What kind of silly question is that?”

She watched him flounder for a moment. It was cute, really, seeing an angel at a loss for words. However, before he could decide how to respond, they heard Samael calling out for him from the monastery. Zahrandiel frowned, for once hating Samael’s usually impeccable timing. However, the Archangel offered her a smile.

“Some other time, perhaps?”

Zahrandiel reached for her necklace, taking it off. “Here.”

“Uh… Don’t you want to keep it?”

“I can make another one. Samyaza says I need more practice smithing, anyways. And she’s even teaching me how to blow glass!”

Gabriel had no idea what that meant, but he didn’t ask, putting the necklace on and tucking it under his robes. “I’ll see you again.”

“Likewise.” Turning, Zahrandiel picked up her pitcher, and resumed her work on her circle, grinning to herself when she heard him hesitate before he took off.

\---------

Samael only had to wait a moment before the Archangel reappeared before him. Wordlessly, he held out a scroll. Gabriel gave a puzzled look at the Seraph’s grim expression.

“Metatron has my response.” Samael told him. “You may go. And you may return whenever you see fit. As a fellow angel.”

“Thank you.” Gabriel’s brows furrowed. “Is there anything else?”

“No.”

After a moment, something dark in Samael’s gaze made him decide to teleport instead of flying. A bolt of lightning, a roll of thunder, and he was gone.

\---------


	3. First Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summarized depiction of a battle and genocide.

*** Some years later, after Noah’s Ark… ***

Zahrandiel covered her mouth, struggling to keep quiet. She winced, discomfort radiating through her scalp.

“Stop fidgeting.” Samyaza admonished, the older Egregore’s fingers still pulling and twisting. “Almost done.”

“Why do people plait their hair if it hurts?” She huffed, pouting.

“It doesn’t usually hurt. You’re just tender-headed.”

Another huff. Having finished the braid, Samyaza tied it with a ribbon at the end. “Your hair is so long. Pretty raven waves.”

“Your hair’s longer.” She looked over her shoulder at her. “You know that.”

A quiet chuckle left her.

It was quiet in Purgatory, today. Noah’s flood had passed, again leaving the Egregore alone to their own devices. They were content to know the children they helped Crowley and Aziraphale smuggle aboard had survived, though some feared the latter would be punished. They could do nothing, however, and tended to their monastery on the mountain Eden sat atop, shrines scattering the slopes alongside jungle, forest, and bamboo.

The pair sat by a spring in a glen of wisteria, Zahrandiel with her feet in the water and Samyaza knelt behind her. Playing with the braid a bit, the taller, older Egregore chuckled and leaned up and over to kiss Zahrandiel’s brow, as a sibling would.

Grinning, Zahrandiel turned and dipped a hand in the water before splashing the taller.

“No, don’t.” Samyaza laughed, shielding herself with her hands.

She splashed her again.

The taller giggled, not caring that their robes were getting wet. In fact… “Okay. You wanna play?”

Zahrandiel grinned and shook her head. “Don’t you dare—Ah!”

Samyaza tackled her, the two falling into the knee-deep pool. The waves of Samyaza ’s pale golden hair plastered to her skin and robe, a few of Zahrandiel’s raven bangs breaking loose and sticking to her brow. The pair sat up and were cackling like children, fragrant purple petals falling around them.

The boom of a warhorn cut their laughter off sharply. Both Egregore bolted to their feet, looking around. A sidelong snap of the fingers had them both dry before wings unfurled and carried them up into the canopy towering above. No sooner than their heads poked up over the leaves, they saw it. An army on white wings, flying toward the monastery.

Heaven was attacking Purgatory.

Samyaza ’s eyes went wide. She grabbed Zahrandiel’s wrist and hauled her back downwards. Alarm bells sounded all across the garden from the walls. A voice, tinged with Divine Fury, boomed from the sky above as the attack washed over Eden.

“By the Almighty’s decree, Eden shall burn! For fornicating with mortals, and siring Nephilim… For teaching mortals the vices of magic, warfare, and crafts… the Egregore shall perish!”

Samyaza tugged Zahrandiel after her, even after they landed.

“What—” An explosion of stone cut Zahrandiel off.

Pebbles and debris rained down on them. Samyaza raised her free hand, a warding rune appearing in midair to shield them.

Zahrandiel was led through the glen, along familiar paths. All paths shielded from sight by vegetation. Smoke filled the air. Fire stretched across the garden, consuming all in its path. Screams… So many screams.

As the volume grew, Samyaza dragged the smaller Egregore to the nearest safe place. A hidden place she had made and no one besides her parents knew of. She pulled Zahrandiel behind the veil of the waterfall, into the grotto hidden behind.

“Stay here! No matter what happens, stay here!” Samyaza snapped, turning.

Fear gripped her. She froze as she watched Samyaza rush back outside. The grotto’s enchantment allowed her to see clearly through the water, where the space was near invisible from the outside.

She wished she couldn’t.

Her people were in a panic. Some tried fighting the other angels off. Others tried dousing the fires. Neither succeeded. The Heavenly Host had brought its most powerful warriors. Cherubs, Thrones, Dominions… And the Egregore were unprepared.

Some angels were wounded. Falling from the sky. Discorporating. An unfortunate few plummeted into the churning dunes of stardust, the desert surrounding the mountain. There was no bottom. If one crashed to those dunes, they would pass straight through, down to Hell. They would Fall. Samael was battling Metatron himself overhead, in their true forms. The head of Purgatory was gravely wounded.

She spotted Samyaza, who was leading a group of angels away, firing arrows at them over one shoulder. But an Archangel caught up with her, slamming a spiked mace into her back. Zahrandiel covered her mouth to keep from crying out as Samyaza’s wings broke, and she Fell, plunging down into the dunes.

Samyaza had Fallen. 

People were dying. Smoke filled the air. Tears stung Zahrandiel’s eyes as she heard the clatter of weapons and the shrieks of pain.

She saw another angel nearby. An Arch-Cherub in full lorica with a gleaming longsword and a tower shield in the shape of a wing. Six vast and powerful wings rippled behind him to keep him aloft. 

Gabriel.

Just as he cast down the Egregore in front of him, an arrow slammed into his shoulder. Straight through. Pinning his upper-right wing.

The pain was obviously great. He shouted. In agony. Alarm. Then bellowed in panic as he started to Fall.

Time seemed to slow.

Falling. He was falling. FALLING. If the stardust swallowed him and he fell to Earth, he’d end up like Samyaza and—

Zahrandiel was in motion before she could think. Wings unfurled, flapping madly toward him. She went full-stoop, rushing toward him. A few droplets of angelic ichor hit her face. Reach… she had to reach…!

Gabriel felt a small, deceptively strong hand snatch up his forearm. The jolt broke the arrow off, leaving the arrowhead and part of the shaft in his wing, the end still in his shoulder. Dizzying pain made his vision haze and white out.

Momentum behind her, Zahrandiel snarled with effort and threw Gabriel into the garden. Onto solid ground, shy of the flames.

A pained shout escaped him as he landed on his back, wings scraping the ground as he skidded to a stop. His fellow angels were on him in an instant. And Michael’s eyes were on HER. Zahrandiel hissed at her as she soared past, rushing to find a hiding place.

She was glad the Archangel was too preoccupied to follow.

\---------

“Gabriel?”

He glanced aside where he sat on one of the garden walls in Heaven’s main square.

Michael sat beside her twin. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” He rolled his shoulder and flexed the wounded wing. “But it’s bearable.”

“If I find her, I’ll cut her wings off, myself.”

“She likely perished. Besides… it wasn’t her arrow. She was unarmed. The one who shot me perished. And if you set foot below… Don’t do anything stupid. Not for this.”

“They retreated.”

“A tactical retreat because Samael was killed.” He reminded her with a shake of his head and a sarcastic look. “If Metatron hadn’t taken the field, things would’ve gone much worse.”

She pursed her lips, looking down at her feet, and then her hands where they sat clasped in her lap. He was right, and she knew. The only person ever able to stand up to Lucifer or Samael in a fight had always been Metatron. Gabriel’s gaze fell to the chain looped around his left wrist. A trophy, he had said. It was the only way he had gotten away with keeping it when it was found under his armor, when his wounds were seen to.

“Casualties were heavy.” Gabriel sighed, elbows resting on his knees. “They were out for blood, once they got their footing.”

“The one who shot you certainly was, before that little bitch tried using you to demoralize us.”

“I don’t think her heart was in it.”

“She’s an Egregore. As vile as any demon. She doesn’t have a heart.” Michael muttered, pouting. 

Gabriel paused for a long moment. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Hm?” She arched a brow sharply.

“That both our brothers fell?”

Michael pouted. “Of course it does. But there’s nothing I can do about it.”

A sigh left him. “Right.”

“They’re traitors, Gabriel. They turned away from the will of the Lord. Don’t waste your time feeling sorry for them.”

He looked over at her.

“They deserve what they got.”

Both fell quiet as Hofniel approached them, the Archangel glancing between them. “I’m sorry to interrupt… Gabriel, Metatron has need of you, if you’re able.”

He stood and nodded, following him away.

\---------


	4. Fallen Virtue

Need of him, as it appeared, was to lead a company of Cherubs into the ruins, to make sure nothing and no one survived.

It didn’t smell like… mundane smoke, per se. The stench of Eden’s burned remains smelt worse. Otherworldly, tinged with the familiar chamomile scent of angelic ichor.

Bodies may have disintegrated, but the smell of death remained heavy. Thick and cloying alongside unnatural, sharp smoke that nothing else possessed.

They fanned out, moving through the garden, searching for any signs of survivors that had yet to be put to the sword. For the longest time, he found nothing. Only the husks of once vibrant trees, and the desiccated remains of vines and flowers.

Even the Sacred Tree had died, and lay cleaved down the middle by lightning and burned by flame. Fruit lay strewn about, already rotting, juices staining the ground a shimmering iridescent color no mundane fruit could make. Murals once painted on its bark by the Egregore, in their odd show of reverence, had singed and flaked off in huge patches, leaving behind abstract. He kept walking, coming to the rut along the ground that was stained with his own ichor, and he passed it by.

He didn’t want to be here. Didn’t like standing here.

A sound drew Gabriel’s attention. A sniffle. His hand tightened on the handle of his sword as he moved toward the sound, keeping his movements quiet and careful.

Not careful enough. As soon as he stepped up to the tree-line of the grove, the source of the sound froze.

He recognized her easily. Just as she recognized him. She stared at him, tears sliding down her cheeks. She was partly bent, and he saw after a moment she had been arranging stones. Not into a circle, but stacks. While the precise context was lost, a distant part of his mind realized she was making grave markers.

Gabriel knew he should end her. Smite her then and there. Such was the will of the Lord. But that look in her eyes—

He heard breaking twigs nearby. Footsteps. In silence, he motioned for her to go. To hide or flee. She only had time for the former, ducking behind the burned remains of a tree just before a couple of his soldiers came forward.

“Sir, there are no signs of survivors.”

“Good. That’s… good.” Gabriel cleared his throat. “The sooner we finish our sweep, the sooner we can leave. Let’s go.”

The Cherub nodded, turning and walking off. Gabriel glanced the Egregore’s way, but she was gone, leaving only a lone feather where she once stood.

As he went back and neared the wall, a few others shouted. There was a scream, followed by wingbeats. A whoosh of air as the Egregore rushed overhead, fleeing. Before his troops could rush after and destroy her, he instead took a bow from one of his subordinates and nocked an arrow. They saw and held back.

Zahrandiel cried out as pain lanced down her back. Gazing down, she saw a platinum arrow protruding from her shoulder, stained with blood and ichor. Her vision grew hazy as she began to plummet downwards, toward the dunes. Sneering, she lifted one hand and drew the arrow through.

Gabriel tensed as he watched the Falling Egregore draw an ethereal bow. “Everyone cover!”

The arrow whistled through the air. Just before he could take cover for himself or summon his shield, he felt a sting lance beside his neck, grazing the skin beneath the left corner of his jaw. It burned fiercely and he clapped a hand over it before gazing down at said hand. His fingers were stained with both blood and ichor, though a small amount. No sooner than he saw his own essence, his Divine Fury healed it over. They gazed out and watched the Egregore plummet into the dunes.

“Should we…?” The archer questioned.

“No.” Gabriel watched the Egregore’s descent, smoke and green embers rising from her body. “She’s Fallen. She’s no threat as a demon.”

He nodded as the Arch-Cherub handed the bow back to him.

Swallowing hard, Gabriel mentally prayed for forgiveness at his failure, his weakness… and he made no mention of her beyond necessary details.

\---------

Lightning. Smoke. Pain. Clouds sailed past. She could smell her feathers and robes burning. Everything burned. Rain stung her skin like acid. The Earth’s ground gave way like passing through thick smoke, followed by Purgatory.

She was screaming. A vortex swallowed her up. Hot and cold, hot and cold. Freezing and thawing, freezing and burning. Thunder roared. She couldn’t hear. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t get out.

Pain echoed through her body in great booms. The gale thrashed her against stalagmites on the arena floor. Her fingers bled. Nails ripped out as she struggled to hold on. She was swept up. Thrashed against the walls and floors. The smell of her own blood. Burning feathers. Singed flesh.

She was suddenly wedged against the wall. Crawling. Crying. Rocks dug into her limbs. Bone-deep. Demons on the arena wall watched. She called for help. Yelled until her throat tore and blood filled her mouth. None of them did. None of them could.

It was her job to get out. To survive.

There was a blank space. A haze of colors as the roar of the storm remained constant. And then, she was there. She was out. The storm lay behind her like an angry tornado pinned to the floor. Shaking. Dazed. Gasping for air she didn’t need.

Demons crowded in. Congrats, freshie. You made it. Good job. She was surrounded. Yet, she was alone. Her throat hurt. She couldn’t scream anymore.

“Move! Get out of my sodding way!” Crowley shoved the rabble aside.

He paled, and gaped at what he saw. In an instant, he was at her side, cupping her face in his hands.

“Hey… Hey, Zah…” He kept his voice in a low murmur.

A violent shiver wracked her body. She knew that voice. It cut through her pain like a knife. Crowley. Her dear friend Crowley.

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

She hesitated. Slowly, very slowly, she did open them. Crowley saw at once what he was looking at. Black sclera, with jade green irises and round pupils. The eyes of a cat. Of a leopard.

She whimpered, golden tears sliding down pale cheeks as her corporation purged her angelic ichor, replacing it with something else.

“Shh… I’m right here, Zah.” He pushed the bangs of glossy raven hair out of her face. “I’m going to heal your wounds. Alright?”

Zahrandiel made a small sound. An affirmation. She felt an energy unfamiliar to her. Hot and cloying. She inhaled sharply through her teeth at the burn as it skirted the edge between tolerable and painful, even as the wounds began to close and the physical pain ebbed just so. There was a bone-deep ache that she couldn’t ignore and that he couldn’t cure.

“How is she?”

Crowley turned, spying the Prince of Hell. “She’s alive and awake, Lord Beelzebub.”

Footsteps came closer.

“Zah, she’s going to look at your wings, alright?”

Zahrandiel shook her head. Her wings hurt. They felt like they were still on fire.

Crowley shushed her and pulled her close, pressing her face against his neck. Cool and clinical, Beelzebub inspected the Egregore Virtue’s wings. What once looked like the proud limbs of a sparrow hawk were now a deep raven hue that had dark bands of onyx where the striped feathers would be, the plumage reflecting metallic mint in the right lighting.

He was glad she didn’t struggle when Beelzebub inspected her wings, though to the Prince’s credit, she was gentle, as with every inspection. Firm, but careful. Becoming a demon apparently hadn’t changed that about her.

“Good.” Satisfied, Beelzebub left.

Crowley was leaning over Zahrandiel. Petting her face, pushing her singed hair aside. Healing her wounds. Easing her pain. It wasn’t a luxury most in Hell afforded others. Part because most Fell all at once, part because they considered it a right of passage. A hazing process.

She sniffled, hiccupped, and swallowed hard, mustering a wobbly smile.

He forced a nervous little smirk. “Just get your bearings and I’ll take you someplace more comfortable. Yeah?”

Zahrandiel nodded.

\---------

The pain, the aching soreness, eased after a while. The shakes, the nerves, faded much more slowly. The hollow absence of Grace could be ignored, after a while. Having at least one friend made it easier. Having a friend and two associates, more so.

She wasn’t… AS bothered as some. Sure, she was upset. She was grieving the loss of her kindred, and her Fall. But she was also confused. The other angels had cut down the Egregore with smiles and war-cries. Gabriel had killed very few. In fact, what few Egregore she had run into down below had been cast down by him. He hadn’t killed them. Nor her. And she realized if he hadn’t shot her down, she WOULD have been killed.

Her name no longer felt right. For multiple reasons. Crowley explained it to her when she asked. Hearing their angelic names made their ears ring uncomfortably. Saying the angelic name of a demon filled the speaker’s mouth with a bad taste. Their Celestial names were not their own. Not anymore.

So, like all angels and demons, she chose to change it. Kokabiel had become Crowley, Samyaza had become Azazel, and Gadreel had become Beelzebub. She needed a name. To find her own name. And after some considerable thought, she thought of rustling leaves. The sound that made. When she finally stood before Beelzebub’s throne to be counted and assigned, the Fallen Cherub regarded her.

“What is your name, then?” Beelzebub drawled with a tilt of her head.

Zahrandiel gave a small, tentative smile. “I am Xaslem.”

\---------


	5. Down to Earth

*** Much later, 3 months after the canceled apocalypse… ***

Paperwork after the failed apocalypse was a nightmare. Incident reports regarding unprovoked attacks on demons whom had wandered Earthside, weapons requisitions, transfer requests, insubordination… Gabriel couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so busy. Part of him wondered if he had EVER been this busy.

A small stack of manila folders tucked beneath one arm, he made his way to the conference room. The meeting was a bit overdue, but needed to happen, either way.

Gabriel paused when he came to the plain steel doors. Normally, the lights were off. When the lights of the conference room were on, Heaven’s upper echelon would gather for a meeting without question. Sure, he usually arrived in time with the others, but he was the one calling the meeting this time. Something… Something didn’t feel right.

Letting his hand rest on the doorknob, Gabriel listened. He heard two voices within. Metatron, and Sandalphon.

“This is a disaster!” Metatron hissed, panicked in a way Gabriel had never heard before.

“Calm down. We still have…” Sandalphon trailed off.

“Still have what?! I am running out of time! The apocalypse was supposed to solve this entire bloody problem! I don’t have the time nor the patience to wait another six ages to get this done!”

“… They’re going to ask questions. You know Hell declared a ceasefire.”

“Screw Hell. And their questions. Once all the demons are dead and humans wiped out, we can start over proper. Without HER interference.”

“Won’t the others—”

“I will deal with them.”

Gabriel swallowed hard, fighting the compulsion to open the door and ask what the Hell they were talking about. Instead, he listened, a cold sweat beading up along the back of his neck.

“What if She comes back?” Sandalphon asked after a long moment.

“She won’t. She abandoned us and foolishly left Lucifer in charge before I managed to seize power. May She rot, wherever She went.” Metatron spat, a sneer evident in his voice. “There has to be a way to goad him into attacking. Or to tricking his bastard son into starting the war.”

“Metatron, with all due respect, between the antichrist, Aziraphale, and Crowley… we might not actually win.”

“We will. Then, I can finally gain my place at the head of the table.”

“But you said there wasn’t much time.”

“We’ll have to move fast then, won’t we?” Metatron paused a moment. “You worry too much, Sandalphon. I overthrew Lucifer, and I have ruled over Heaven for six-thousand years. I will rule for six-thousand more.”

“And our bargain?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” A low chuckle came. “With you at my right hand. As it should be. As I promised.”

Slowly, carefully, Gabriel let go of the door handle and backed up a step. He felt like his stomach was in his throat, his chest tight and his jaw clenched so hard he felt his teeth creak. What he’d heard replayed in his mind, again and again like a broken record.

“Wait a moment…”

The Archangel moved fast, to the side of the door. No sooner than he was out of the way, they swung open with a snap that cracked their hinges.

“Metatron?” Sandalphon questioned uneasily.

A crunch of wall breaking. Gabriel shouted as he was grabbed by the back of his jacket and shirt, and pulled through. Slung to land back hard against the conference room’s sloped windows. It cracked behind him with the force of it. Papers fluttered everywhere, landing across the floor. Dazed, Gabriel stared up at Metatron, the Seraph looming over him. Gabriel’s mind raced, scrambling for a response.

“Eavesdropping?” Metatron sighed, straightening his slate-colored jacket. “I always thought you were above such things.”

“Now… Now, Metatron, let’s not do anything hasty.” He hated how his voice shook just a bit.

“You leave me little choice, in the matter.” He snapped his fingers, a long and ornate flamberge falling into his hand from thin air. Hellfire skittered along the blade.

Oh.

Oh no.

A spark of Divine Fury echoed in the room as Gabriel slammed his elbow backwards into the window. Glass shattered and he fell, but not before a long line was slashed along his right ribs. Wind rushed past him. He turned, wings unfurling.

Metatron sneered, and turned as he heard a rush of footsteps coming their way. “Play along.”

Not that Sandalphon had a choice. A snap of the Seraph’s fingers had the Archangel on the floor, unconscious and bleeding over scattered papers and tile flooring. Michael and Uriel reached the doorway. Uriel rushed toward Sandalphon, kneeling at his side.

“What happened?!” Michael rushed over, summoning her own sword.

“Gabriel!” Metatron put on a show of tenseness, panting. “He’s a double-agent!”

“He… That can’t be!”

Dropping his sword, he knelt beside the wounded Archangel, examining the injuries quickly before glancing at them. “He’s fleeing towards the gates! Stop him!”

Uriel was in motion first, leaping from the window and taking flight. Michael froze on the spot, her mouth dry and throat bringing the taste of bile.

“Either help Uriel or get over here and help me!” Metatron’s voice boomed with Divine Fury.

She was at his side in an instant.

The exit, Gabriel chanted in his mind. He had to get to the exit. He had to get out. He tried teleporting but couldn’t. He cursed viciously under his breath.

He heard wingbeats behind him. He saw a reflection in the windows as he passed it. Those were his only warnings.

There was a thud as pain sang across his back, Uriel dive-bombing him with mace brandished. The pain was dizzying. He forced his wings to work even as he felt himself pale. She swooped again, slamming her whole weight in.

His vision hazed and whited out, a cry leaving him. Uriel pulled back, watching him crumple downwards. Blood stained pale feathers. He fell forward, and down, back-first. Lightning sparked and smoke billowed as he sailed through the clouds, downwards.

\---------


	6. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xaslem’s outfit consists of (https://www.pinterest.com/pin/522276888016734380/) minus the jewelry, with (https://www.pinterest.com/pin/498492252483262517/) over it and (https://www.pinterest.com/pin/806707351991265015/) as her jacket.
> 
> A bit of gore/ graphic stuff. Nothing bad by my standards, but be aware, anyways.

“More tea?” Aziraphale offered with a fond little smile.

“Please.” Xaslem extended her cup to him, and he poured her some. “Thanks much.”

“Of course.”

There was a comfortable silence between the angel and two demons. Aziraphale sat at his desk, turned toward the couch, while either side of said couch was occupied by Crowley and Xaslem, respectively. She added a couple sugar cubes and some cream before settling back into place, leaned against the arm of the sofa, hands supporting saucer and teacup but legs comfortably stretched out with ankles crossed.

Xaslem had only really known Aziraphale for a few years despite meeting him at the Ark. The only reason she’d met him a second time was mostly because she’d been looking for Crowley and she’d found him at the bookshop. After, she’d taken to basking on the sidewalk in her feline form, and she occasionally saw Aziraphale when she wandered the park. The angel was a delight, certainly. And it made her happier than anyone could know that Crowley had that special someone in his life. She and Crowley had been friends for a very long time. It was a privilege, as he wasn’t the sort to dole out his affection lightly. He was the closest thing she had to a brother, and the day of his trial had nearly broken her. She had to be gagged and held back. And when she saw he’d lived, she’d laughed hysterically and passed out. That’d been a day.

Now, though… Things were slow in Hell, after the apocanope. Not that it caused any fewer headaches for Beelzebub. The ceasefire treaty she’d sent had been returned from Heaven in a pile of holy water soaked shreds – one of many reasons why she never opened documents for herself. On top of that, corporation requisitions from the spike in angel attacks, and most demons refusing to go topside. Except one.

A week after the failed execution, Xaslem had been sent up to give Crowley his exit papers. Beelzebub didn’t trust the supposed traitor to not discorporate another demon to protect his angel. And of course, Xaslem had returned with signed papers and a request. She wanted to go topside. Granted, she’d been on Earth many times, occasionally for weeks at a time. But she wanted to go up there and stay there a while.

“They said I could stay topside as long as I want.” She finally announced, gazing at her two closest and perhaps her only real friends. “I’m looking for a place to live.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Aziraphale said in his usual way of conversation. “I do hope Beelzebub didn’t give you too much fuss.”

“There wasn’t much reason to deny the request, with the war essentially cancelled and all.” She shrugged and steered away from THAT conversation. “I was thinking Parliament Hill. Miracling a nice little house there.”

“A bit out in the open, isn’t it?” Crowley arched a brow at her.

She shrugged. “The city’s a little too loud. And my favorite restaurant’s there, too. The Woodhearth Inn.”

“And if the neighbors have dogs?”

“I’m sure I could scare them off.” Her shoulders hunched at the idea and she sipped at her tea.

“Xas, you do realize there’re some apartment buildings that don’t allow pets. You’d be fine, there.”

“I want a house.”

“Alright, alright…” Crowley sighed, dropping the idea. “Don’t mean to mother hen.”

“Not something you can help.” A quiet snicker left her. “I’m going to have a whole room for my Legos. And a reading nook in the living—”

A ringing was heard, coming from the store. Aziraphale cast the old rotary a withering glare.

“Just ignore it.” Crowley muttered.

“But who on Earth would be calling at this hour?”

“Ignore it, angel.”

It continued ringing. And, as if by compulsion, the angel set his tea aside and stood, making his way to the phone. Both demons watched him answer it, and he froze midway through his usual ‘we are closed’ speech. Then, he turned, his gaze snapping to them.

Aziraphale rested the phone against his shoulder to muffle his voice. “Xaslem, I believe this call is for you.”

Slowly, she set her tea aside and went over.

He handed her the phone and stepped away, clasping his hands. 

“Psychic Pizza. $14.83. About thirty minutes.”

[Must you?] Beelzebub sighed over the phone.

“Well, yeah. That one usually makes Hastur hang up. Need something, lord?”

[There’s been a development. An angel crashed to Earth.]

Xaslem’s brows furrowed. “Okay… what else?”

[It’s Gabriel.]

“Holy shit… For real?”

[Yes. Angels have been spotted searching. And they’re armed. Something has happened. I want you to go get him. Take him someplace safe and see what’s going on.]

“Can do. Any idea where he is?”

[Somewhere near Sudeley Castle or southwest of it, best guess.]

“On it.” Xaslem hung up, heaving a sigh. “So much for my vacation.”

“Xaslem, darling?” Aziraphale said carefully.

Crowley was out of his seat, now. Prowling toward her. “Everything alright?”

She cracked her knuckles, and slid her hands into her pockets. “I’ll call you two later, kay?”

They nodded.

“Be careful.” Aziraphale told her.

With a snap of her fingers, she seemed to unravel into a whirl of black sand and mist, disappearing up into the ceiling and leaving the shop altogether.

\---------

The sky was grey with pre-dawn light. Xaslem rarely flew, but she had to in this case.

When she drew close to the castle, she could smell blood and angelic ichor on the wind. Copper and chamomile. That distinct scent was mingled with faded cologne, and something unique to the person wearing it. She remembered it even though she hadn’t seen him in person for some 6000 years. She knew.

The scent grew stronger as she reached a swath of woodlands surrounded by open fields. She found a very shallow crater, splattered with red and liquid gold. There were drag-marks leading off.

Dark wings fluttering behind her, she landed and folded them away into the ether. Her steps carried her along the marks in a brisk but completely silent march. Then, she spotted him. How he was conscious, she had no idea, and she gaped at the state of him.

Two of his wings were so badly broken and mangled that bone jutted out from the plumage. A branch had impaled him through the side, and his left leg was broken some inches above the knee. He had SOMEHOW dragged himself several meters in that condition, leaving long lines of gold on the grass and leaf-litter, over to where he had hauled himself to kneel on his uninjured leg, slumped against the side of a fallen tree. His suit was rumpled and in disarray, one hand clutching the bark of the fallen timber while the other hand rested on the broken-off branch that’d run him through.

A mix of gold and red ran down his chin. He was pale. Shaking. Jittery. He didn’t seem to notice her. If he did, and he recognized her… If he panicked, they would both be very screwed. Silently, she pulled her hood up over her head. He’d never seen her demon form, and between shock and the dark of her hood, she’d have enough time to get him someplace safer.

When she stepped closer, a booted foot snapping a stick, his gaze snapped to her. The feathers of his wings ruffled, the unbroken ones rising up in an instinctual threat display while the broken ones – upper-right and middle-left – quivered and struggled to stay up on their own weight.

“Beelzebub sent me.” Xaslem said.

Something in her words seemed to draw him back from panic. He blinked, eyes glassy as he clenched his jaw, gagging as he tried to swallow without choking on blood and ichor. The demon strode closer to him, but his ears were ringing. His corporation’s heart fluttered wildly despite not needing to, his lungs struggling for breath he also didn’t need.

Xaslem knelt beside him, looking over the damage. If she moved the branch, he could bleed out. Healing him would take a lot of time and energy, especially for a demon. She chewed her lower lip, and bristled when she sensed other auras – stronger, uninjured – coming toward them. 

“Fold your wings down.”

“I can’t.” He rasped, again trying to swallow.

“Try!”

A strained, shaking, subdued sound left him, his wings trembling as he lowered them. Her own wings unfurled and she covered him with them. A ball of light passed overhead. Straight onwards, not even noticing them. Xaslem hesitated for a long moment before moving her wings off his, earning a shaking breath of relief. She cupped his face in her hands, mindful of her claws.

“I can’t risk healing you here. Miracling us away is going to hurt. But I need you to stay awake. Understand?”

He nodded, grimacing.

She snapped her fingers.

There was a rush of air and, rather suddenly, they were in a vacant barn by one of the many fields in the area. Gabriel choked out a broken cry and gulped down air. The demon supported him amidst the burning, stabbing pain. The pain of being torn apart from the inside out. One hand still clutching the branch as if worried of what’d happen if he didn’t, his free arm wrapped around the demon, his mind hazy and flashes of light and dark going off behind his eyes. He was clinging to consciousness by nails alone.

Seeing he was more comfortable in the kneeling, leaning position from before, she snapped her fingers, calling up a square haybale and leaning him against it.

“Leg first. Easiest and least painful, probably…” Xaslem maneuvered him carefully. “I laid down a ward, so feel free to scream.”

And he did. The hand gripping the stick impaling him abandoned its post to claw at her arm, while his other hand ripped up tufts of hay from the bale, and slammed against it in a closed fist. There was a crackle and a snap, followed by a hissing sound as bone was realigned and his Divine Fury healed it over. He was deathly pale, now.

“Okay… Side next.” She reached for the stick.

His hand shook as he stopped her. “N-No, just… give me a moment.”

“We – as in YOU – might not have a moment. Do you want to bleed out? To discorporate?”

A grimace crossed Gabriel’s face and he weakly shook his head.

“Then brace yourself.”

A rush of air left him as she snapped her fingers, dismissing the stick from existence with a miracle. No screams, this time. Only a harsh, raspy panting as she worked on healing him. There was a gurgle, and a sick sucking sound as organs healed from the inside out, followed by muscle. His breath hitched and stuttered, but he couldn’t seem to stop breathing despite the fact not breathing might’ve helped the pain.

When she got to his wings, he finally passed out and slumped against the hay bale. Not that it mattered anymore, since they were in a relatively safe place.

\---------

She kept an eye on him. Healing his wings had been an endeavor. Somewhat exhausting. But she couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t bring herself to, worried someone might find them. She had called Crowley and Aziraphale, giving them an update. Now…

Xaslem kept herself perched on a beam over the empty stalls. The barn wasn’t old, but it was vacant. Why, she didn’t know nor care, and it didn’t matter. The demon had perfect balance on the beam of aged wood, looking light as a feather when her form was anything but.

Finally, when the sun had rose and light streamed through the windows, he began to stir where she had laid him out on a miracled quilt.

He sat up – more like shot up – braced on one hand and the other hand lashing out. Arcs of Divine Fury sparked along his arms. Defensive. Ready for attack. Yet, as he began to calm and come more back to himself, Gabriel saw just where he was. Feathers ruffled, wings giving a brief, slow flap and scattering hay around himself, he glanced around.

Xaslem cleared her throat.

Gabriel’s gaze snapped to the direction of the sound and, were he human, he might’ve gotten whiplash. Above, he spied a dark-clad, hooded figure sitting on a beam. Braced on one hand, one leg hanging and the other bent up with an elbow on her knee.

Her clothes were worn and jacket tattered, with hints of gold embroidery somewhere in those layers. Strappy boots looked just a size too large for her, and how someone had managed to cross Victorian breeches with cargo pants, he had no idea, but that was what she wore. The dark of her hood and the voluminous scarf round her neck hid her face, save for a pair of glowing jade green eyes, flecked with a golden sheen that reflected bright at the right angle.

“So. Care to explain?” The demon inquired. Her accent was American, like his, but a different dialect. One more illusive and hard to pin, but clearly urban.

“I need to see Beelzebub.” Gabriel muttered, managing to get to his feet, only for a wave of dizziness to wash over him, making him lean back with his shoulders to a support beam.

“If you think I’m taking you to her without an explanation, you’re mistaken.” Her tone was airy, nonchalant, as she tapped an index claw against her perch.

He ground his teeth, trying to ignore the lingering metallic taste in his mouth as he weighed his options. “I don’t even know who you are.”

The tapping ceased. Her free hand slid up and pushed her hood back. His breath stopped. Even after six ages, he recognized her. He recognized her in vivid, near painful detail.

She was unusual for an ethereal being. Few of them liked looking young, and he couldn’t say why. She, however, preferred it. Her visage was that of a woman in her mid-twenties, pale skin smattered with dark freckles. High cheekbones, narrow jaw, and a sharp chin gave her a face that would’ve made Greek and Roman sculptors swoon, and made Victorian painters weep.

Her corporation was short, only five feet tall, and her clothing concealed most of the details. Wavy raven hair was done in a side-shave that reached her mid-back, most of it gathered up in a loose ponytail-bun hybrid beneath her knit hat. And those claws… From the pointed nail-beds and the pure white color, they looked feline. Sharp and wicked.

It was her. Formerly Zahrandiel, but now a demon. Part of him felt the scar under the corner of his jaw prickle with a phantom sting.

“Now you know. And, as I said, Beelzebub sent me.” She tilted her head, gazing at him. “Your turn.”

Gabriel stared at her. He couldn’t look away.

“I’m waiting.”

“Samael was right.” He swallowed hard, mustering what courage and dignity he could in his current state. “About Metatron.”

A pin could’ve dropped.

In a blur of motion, dark wings spread and she lunged at him. She didn’t hit him, though. She landed in front of him. Wings like a melanistic sparrow hawk fanned out and feathers ruffled behind her, markings only visible when struck by light, reflecting mint green.

“Say what now?” She questioned, leaning in close to him.

“He was right about Metatron.” Gabriel huffed, his own wings tense behind him. “And I need to talk to Beelzebub.”

With a decidedly feline yowl, she pulled away from him, walking a couple yards away and resting her hands on her hips. Samael’s decrying of Metatron was right. Satan and the whole of his thrall were RIGHT. And to hear that come out of an angel’s mouth, THE angel’s mouth… It wasn’t something Xaslem ever expected to hear. It was important news. Big news. Like a wave getting ready to crest. And she hated it. Xaslem snarled out a curse before turning to look at him.

“You’ll have to put on a brave face. Kay?” She gave him a pointed look. “Any sign of weakness, and I won’t be able to help. Understand?”

Gabriel nodded and straightened, folding his wings away into the ether. A snap of his fingers had him in a different and notably clean, pristine outfit. All pale powder grey. Turtleneck, slacks, scarf, jacket… And brown shoes. With grey. It made her roll her eyes as she walked over to him and linked arms with him. They began to sink into the floor.

“Express elevator to Hell.” Xaslem grinned to herself at the movie quote. “Going down.”

\---------


	7. An Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feminine pronouns for Beelzebub because I tried with neutral pronouns and I couldn't get it to feel right. Sorry.

Hell wasn’t quite what Dante had described. Perhaps time had changed it, as time had changed Heaven. Not that anyone cared. Satan had decided to make the place look like the set of a horror movie. And it suited most of Hell’s residents just fine.

It looked like a city underground. A maze of subway tunnels, escalators – most of which didn’t fucking work or went in reverse – and dank, wet basement. Peeling wallpaper, flaking paint, and what few wooden expanses of floor there were creaked like mad. The deeper in one went, the lower one got. It looked like the gutted, sunless insides of a mall or department store, but of a size to match Heaven.

An elevator carried them sideways and downwards while playing Girl from Ipanema on its speakers. Straight to the lobby in front of Beelzebub’s office and down the hall from Dagon’s, off in the City of Dis. The walk through the lobby was a long one. Several demons, many of whom he had cast down himself, were eyeing him like fresh meat.

It took everything Gabriel had to keep up his usual walk and a calm posture. The lingering ache in his body was eating at him, though he managed. But the demons could sense injury, and weakness. And they could smell the blood still staining his wings even though they were tucked in the ether.

Xaslem ignored them, not seeming to care, until one of them came up behind him with a knife. She whirled fluidly, baring her fangs with a snarl that sounded ripped from a wildlife documentary. The intruding demon backed up, face pale and hands up.

One of the demons shouted at them. “Don’t act so self-important, coffee gremlin! No one likes your boyfriend!”

She made a rude gesture. One Gabriel didn’t fully understand.

He frowned at her. “I can handle myself.”

“Whatever you say.” Xaslem snickered, continuing the march.

When they reached the double-doors down the hall overlooking the City of Dis, she knocked, and waited. The doors swung open. And, of course, Beelzebub was on her throne, at her desk, looking like she had expected the two visitors. No sooner than the pair crossed the threshold, the doors slammed closed behind them and locked.

“I didn’t expect you back so soon.” Beelzebub frowned, sitting forward, elbows on her desk.

“I know. Sorry. Missed you, too. But, uh… It’s kind of important?” She cracked her knuckles before shoving her hands in her jacket pockets, trying not to fidget. “And you DID tell me to go get him.”

She looked her over before giving a dismissive wave. “Go get me a coffee, then. I’m zzure Gabriel and I have a lot to discuzz.”

Xaslem dismissed herself without argument, a relieved exhale escaping her as soon as she was out, and the door was closed again. Beelzebub snapped her fingers, an armchair appearing on the vacant side of their desk. She gestured to it. And when Gabriel made to sit down, he all but collapsed into its plush velvet embrace despite hating velvet.

Beelzebub tilted her head. “I take it the rumor mill isn’t too far off.”

“Depends on what they’re saying.” Gabriel supplied, unable to muster his usual smirk.

And she noticed. Beelzebub opened a drawer, pulling out a bottle of The Balvenie single malt and a glass. Normally, she wouldn’t squander such an expensive scotch on anyone, much less an angel, but he looked like he needed it. She poured him a glass and slid it over to him.

“Drink it.” Beelzebub told him.

“I’d rather not.” Gabriel muttered.

“It will take the edge off the pain.” She inched it closer with a cold, hard look. “Drink. It.”

Sighing, he picked up the glass, eying the amber liquid before taking a sip. He winced, and coughed into the back of the hand holding the glass, the burn stinging his throat and the flavor not at all pleasant.

“I knew something was wrong when some of my scouts saw an angel crashing down. I could tell from the color of the smoke it was you. Then, rumor has it you were chased out of Heaven, but you haven’t Fallen. Zzomething like that tends to attract attention.”

He pursed his lips.

“Zzo? Spill it.”

And, at his once best friend but now associate’s command, he did. Gabriel recited everything he’d heard and all that’d happened. Beelzebub listened intently, taking in every single syllable, watching him occasionally force down another sip of the scotch until the glass was empty and set aside.

\---------

Xaslem didn’t mind being the ‘coffee gremlin.’ She didn’t like responsibility or doing more intense work. Even if other demons dissed her for it, she preferred being a fetcher and courier over work others took up. Hell, the debacle with Sir Gawain was her attempt at one, saving a soul, and two, trying to get demoted. And it’d worked, to some extent.

Wandering her way to a nearby breakroom, she made a cup of coffee and added as much honey as she could dissolve in it, and a splash of vanilla creamer and a pinch of cinnamon for taste. Beelzebub was simple in their likes. Sweets. Sugar on sugar on sugar. She supposed there were worse vices.

Xaslem dragged her feet a bit when she made her way back. Trying to give the two enough time to discuss. Soon enough, she had returned to the office, and the doors swung open long enough for her to go in before closing again. Approaching, she handed Beelzebub the coffee. Gabriel observed the interaction. It was fluid and familiar, having no fanfare besides Beelzebub casting her a glance. The Lust demon made to leave, but the Prince’s voice stopped her.

“I didn’t dismiss you, Xazzzlem.” Beelzebub informed her.

Forcing a smile, she walked back to stand beside Gabriel.

“My guest has apprised me with the situation. And since you want to be up top more… I’m assigning you to Gabriel.”

Xaslem’s brows arched upwards. “Do what?”

Her expression was unmoved and apathetic. “Think of it like… a new liaison program. Your job izz to keep him alive. And corporated. Your specialty, seeing as you were once an Egregore.”

“Do I really have to babysit?”

Her icy blue eyes narrowed at this. “You proved loyal enough for me to accept you into my house, my Order, when you left Lust. Normally, I don’t have to threaten you. But I’m certain Azzzmodeuzzz would love to have you back.”

It was as close to an ‘I trust you’ as Beelzebub would come, and as close to a threat as they would go. She knew from experience that Xaslem was content, she was loyal, and she had absolutely zero interest in resuming her status as a succubus. Still, the Lust demon hesitated, and Beelzebub reached for the old rotary phone on the corner of her desk.

“Fine! Fine.” Xaslem sighed. “I’ll do it.”

Gabriel cleared his throat. “Beelzebub, I don’t need a liaison. All I needed was to let you know what was going on and I did. End of story.”

“And what do you intend to do, hm? Wander off into the sunset and wait for the end? You’ve nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. No one to help you. And you’re a hopeless cause when it comes to blending in among humanzzz.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off.

“Azzuming you’re telling the truth, you’re the only witness.” Beelzebub huffed in her usual matter-of-fact tone. “You and I both know how Heaven sorts people out, and I’m going to assume you’re not like Azzziraphale or Crowley. How long do you think you’ll last on your own, Archangel?”

Gabriel ground his teeth before huffing. “Very well, then.”

“Good. … Now get out.”

The pair walked out of the room in unison. Xaslem took some enjoyment in how doors slamming made the angel jump.

“Well. That was fun.” Xaslem sighed aloud as she started walking, shoving a Jolly Rancher in her mouth. “Not quite what I expected, being stuck with you.”

He followed, his strides easily keeping pace. “Do you think I like the idea of being stuck with a demon?”

“Then I guess we can commiserate?”

\---------


	8. Exile

Xaslem knew it would be tolerated when she miracled a house. On Parliament Hill, off in a grassy field by the woods, and in comfortable distance of the Woodhearth Inn. This was expected, she told herself. She was formerly, first and foremost, an Egregore. A Guardian Angel. She was made to watch over and protect, though limited to a singular being, unlike Cherubs or Principalities.

Her new home bore a stone and Tudor exterior with dark shingles and shutters. Farmhouse-style front porch, corner sunroom across from the kitchen, large roofed back porch, and a vast privacy-fenced backyard. The living room, kitchen, and dining space were in the center with a bedroom, bathroom, and office to either side of the house. Made for people living very separately. She chose not to question it as they strode inside. They were greeted by cream walls and ceilings with lacquered wooden ceiling timbers. The walls bore painted wood paneling on the lower portions, painted a soft grey-blue where the rest of the wall was cream. The accent wall in the living room had silky, grey wallpaper depicting geometric patterns.

The foyer was small, having a hall tree opposite of how the door opened. The foyer led straight into the kitchen and dining area, said kitchen having a three-sided wrap-around counter bar with four barstools. The cabinet was, oddly, painted blue to stand out against other wooden surfaces, and the sleek electric range had a gold and white honeycomb backsplash. A window was perched over the sink, having no curtains. The dining area had a partition wall between it and the living room, with an archway on either side to get to said living room. The partition was intricate, with middle-eastern designs on the edges and oriental in the center. The dining table was rectangular and bore four seats, the set modern in design.

Xaslem strode to the living room. It had a fireplace of pale grey stone and a black lacquered mantle, white supporting pillars, granite hearth, and white-handled set of black pokers. She snapped her fingers, wishing up some furniture as per her tastes. The sofa was a sectional, pastel yellow with a matching chaise and two armchairs, surrounding a coffee table of wood with a river of blue epoxy down the middle. On the wall opposite to the fireplace was a former closet that had been opened and renovated into a large, cozy, plush reading nook. There was a back door to the deck.

“Really? That’s what you went with?” Gabriel questioned, arching a brow at the sofa.

“I like it.” She strode into the living room, up to said sofa. “That side’s yours, this side’s mine.”

“Really?” He drawled.

“Yes. I don’t care for the chaise. That side of the house,” she pointed to the left going in the front door, “is yours. I furnished my side. Feel free to furnish yours as you see fit so long as the dimensions of the building don’t change.”

He cast her a flat, unamused look.

“If you have a question, feel free to ask. I’ll say ‘pass’ if I don’t feel like answering. If I’m on the other side of a closed door, KNOCK, and don’t open unless I give you permission.”

“You can’t be serious.” He scoffed.

“I am. And since this is technically my house, you can deal with it.”

He ground his teeth a moment before giving a huff. “Fine.”

\---------

Gabriel tried desperately to call Michael. His sister could be trusted. He knew Uriel wouldn’t hear a word of it. Michael might not listen at first, but she’d want to know. She’d come around.

On the first day, all he got was voicemail, and he DID leave several messages. Second day, static. Texting yielded only jumbled letters and no response. Gibberish. On the third day, in the afternoon, he tried a final time to call Michael. His phone let out a strange, garbled sound and the screen promptly shattered before the device sputtered and died.

He stared down at it, feeling the color drain from his face and a cold sweat along the back of his neck. He knew what this meant. Whether Michael had done it herself or Metatron, he wasn’t sure, but he knew now he couldn’t count on her help.

That left only three people who could possibly assist him. And all three of those people likely hated his guts. He languished for a fourth, final day before finally deciding he had no other real option. He couldn’t ask Beelzebub. While they were still associates, their friendship had been damaged, and bummed down to mere acquaintanceship over the ages.

When he strode out to the living room, he spied Xaslem sitting on the sofa with a soup-mug of steaming liquid, watching the opening credits of a movie.

She paid him no mind. She always looked forward to Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Their specific flavor of comedy. No matter her mood, she could always muster a giggle for that film.

Hearing footsteps, she turned her head to gaze over the back of the sofa. Gabriel’s gaze followed the motion, part of his brain accusing her of being far more flexible than her corporation should allow.

“Need something, pancake?” She drawled.

The nickname made a puzzled look cross his face before he strode closer, standing near but just out of arm’s reach. “I need to speak with Aziraphale.”

Xaslem cocked a brow at him, her eyes narrowing at him. “Why?”

“Because I need help with something, and I can’t contact Michael.”

“Can’t…?” She trailed off and snorted, setting her tea aside. “Excommunicated, then.”

“Yes, very amusing. Now, if you don’t mind, we need to go to the bookshop.”

“Why ‘we?’ Afraid you might have to talk to your little brother? Or the angel you failed to kill?” She was grinning, now, taunting.

Gabriel glared at her.

Then, she grew serious. “Moreover, why do you need to see Aziraphale?”

“Celestial business.” He leaned slightly as if to loom over her but failing to be intimidating. “Meaning none of yours.”

“That’s a real nice way to ask.” Xaslem scoffed through her front teeth. “Have fun.”

“Excuse me?”

“You want to talk to him? Go talk to him. If you’re gonna be rude about it, you don’t get any help.”

Gabriel ground his teeth before giving an insincere grin. “Listen, sweetheart—”

In a blur of movement, she was suddenly standing on the couch, her hands on the back of it, claws fully extended. She was pokerfaced, eyes a bright and vivid lime hue, in his face.

On reflex, he leaned away from her, but held his ground, casting her a peeved look.

“You don’t know me well enough to call me ‘sweetheart.’” She huffed, leering. “Ask. Nicely.”

“I need to speak with Aziraphale…” Gabriel leaned closer as if to mock her height, or lack thereof. “PLEASE.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. After a moment, she sat back down and grabbed her phone. “I’ll text and ask them. If they say no, you’re on your own.”

“Good.”

“I think the term you’re looking for is ‘thank you.’”

Turning, she plucked her phone – a sleek, streamline thing with a green and bamboo case – off the coffee table. Xaslem opened a group text with Crowley and Aziraphale.

X: {Hey. Apparently, Gabriel’s been excommunicated. And he wants to talk to you, Aziraphale. Says something about Metatron and then got snippy, saying it’s ‘Celestial business.’ What do?}

A: {I’m sorry you have to deal with him, darling.}

C: {Tell the wanker to go fuck himself. And no way in hell am I letting him near you, angel.}

A: {Dearest, if it does concern Metatron, it could be important. Think about what’s happened. This could be a danger not only to Gabriel, but the world.}

C: {It’s not our problem anymore.}

A: {It’ll turn into our problem in the future. I don’t like it, either. But we didn’t go through all this trouble just to see it ended anyways.}

C: {… Alright, angel. Xas, give me ten minutes to get over to Aziraphale’s place. They you can pop over with Gabe.}

X: {Will do.}

She looked over the back of the couch at the Archangel. “Ten minutes, and we can head over. Crowley doesn’t want to leave Aziraphale alone with you. Can’t say I blame him.”

“I’m not the one who ordered their executions.” He informed her. Reminded her.

She didn’t seem to notice, or she just didn’t care. “I’ll shortcut us once Crowley’s there.”

With a huff, he moved around the sofa and sat down on his side. All he could do was wait for those ten minutes. Xaslem decided not to say anything further, looking down at her phone.

\---------

“Alright…” Xaslem straightened her jacket as they strode up to the front door. “If you say a single unkind word to either of them, I’ll punch you. Do I make myself clear?”

Gabriel tensed, head tilting back as if to lean away from her despite how much shorter her corporation was. “Transparently.”

“Good.” She linked arms with him, bringing her free hand up snapping with a flick of her wrist.

When she opened the door, it didn’t lead to a concrete carport in a vast green field. On the contrary, it led down an alleyway that let out at the street across from the bookshop.

Shortcutting, stepping through that altered doorway, was disorienting. Having her snap her fingers and an alleyway suddenly leading to a place it was nowhere remotely connected to made a part of Gabriel’s mind feel strangely floaty and disconnected. She was the only person he’d ever seen who could fold reality in such a way. Perhaps the disorientation was from her power as a demon. As soon as they were through the door, she released his arm.

The Bentley was parked outside the shop, much to his chagrin. Though the sign on the door said ‘Closed,’ Xaslem knocked. After a long moment, the door opened, answered by Crowley. While pleased to see the shorter demon, his smile quickly disintegrated when he looked at Gabriel.

“Come in. But don’t try anything.” He warned, walking away from the door.

Xaslem sidled into the shop like she belonged, brushing against the taller demon’s side as she passed him. It garnered no reaction. Aziraphale was in the shop’s atrium, clasping his hands to keep from wringing them. Polite, as ever, but she could tell that he wasn’t entirely happy with the situation.

“Xaslem. Gabriel.” Aziraphale nodded to them, wringing his hands. “So… Excommunicated.”

“Entirely.” Gabriel nodded, and pulled out his phone, showing it to him.

“The screen…” He frowned down at the spiderweb of cracks, a sign that Heaven had no intention of lifting his ban.

“That one happened yesterday morning. I assume they got tired of my attempts.”

Aziraphale frowned tightly and coaxed the device from the taller angel’s grasp, cradling it in his hands. He then handed it back.

“So?” Crowley questioned, tense beside the angel. “What do you want us to do about it?”

“Dear, we agreed to hear him out.”

“Are you forgetting this wanker tried to kill you? Tried to have us both killed?”

“No, dear. That’s a bit difficult to forget.” He pouted at the redhead.

“He didn’t give a damn when you were Excommunicated. He cast people down with a bloody SMILE, shot Xaslem in the back so she Fell. Now, suddenly, because it’s him, he deserves sympathy?”

Gabriel grit his teeth, mouth set in a firm line. He didn’t bother correcting Crowley that Metatron had ordered Aziraphale’s execution and demanded the same of Hell. Nor did he argue any of the point. He kept quiet. No good would come from arguing… Even if hearing those words from his own sibling, however deserved, hurt.

“Dear. Please.” Aziraphale sighed.

Crowley hissed softly, but relented. “C’mon, Xasssss.” He nudged Xaslem with his elbow and nodded to the armchairs across the room. “We can chat over there.”

After giving the Archangel a cool glance, she turned and followed him.

Aziraphale watched them walk away before gently leading Gabriel to the chairs on the opposite side of the room. Of course, the Archangel was too tense to sit, instead standing and glancing around, tapping a foot with the urge to pace.

“Now… Before I offer any sort of help… What, exactly, is it that you need?” Aziraphale kept his voice and tone both even.

“I wanted to know if you have any information on Falling. How it works beyond the general ceremony.” Gabriel told him, hands in his jacket pockets. “Humans are good at recording forbidden information.”

“Yes… Yes, they are.” He frowned, fiddling with his ring. “Why do you wish to know, if I may ask?”

“I assume Xaslem’s brought you up to speed, already?” He glanced the demons’ way.

“She did, yes.”

“If I can learn how it works in more detail, I could expose Metatron.”

“And?” Aziraphale questioned, giving a slight off-kilter smile.

“And… What?” Gabriel gave him a puzzled look.

“And what then? What will happen, should you succeed?”

“I assume he would get taken out of power. It would take a while to sort through everything that happened. And assuming this all started with Satan’s Fall, Metatron the one who ordered the Flood, the Plagues, the War, and all other things rather than the Lord. And we’d need to figure out where the Almighty has gone, and how to reestablish contact.”

“If I recall correctly, you were very certain that the War was necessary despite She Herself proclaiming her plan was ineffable. I believe your words were, when I suggested there didn’t need to be a war, ‘Of course there does. How would we win it?’ Which is rather petty, by the by.”

Gabriel frowned, heaving a sigh. “Aziraphale, I’m not here to fight, or to argue. I’m here asking for your help, even though I have no right to. So, please. Is there anything, anything at all, that you can give me?”

The statement struck Aziraphale, who looked the taller angel over. A flustered expression crossed his face and he objected. “You don’t even care how much danger the world is in.”

“All of Heaven is at stake!” The taller angel hissed so the two demons across the way wouldn’t hear.

“Heaven’s been in shambles for ages. It won’t change at the drop of a hat, even if you DO manage to topple Metatron.”

Gabriel sputtered at that statement. “And you think I should be concerned with, what, humans?!”

“Yes, actually. Especially since you’re under the impression humans have some knowledge that we ourselves do not.”

He blinked at the shorter angel. He hadn’t actually expected that answer.

“This world, for all its flaws, is worth keeping. Worth defending and loving, because it’s the balance Heaven and Hell will never have. Crowley and I didn’t stop the War just to see it start all over again. Metatron is a major threat. But I’m not certain you’re much better.”

His mouth worked a moment, but no words came. Only stunned silence, before he grit his teeth in unspoken frustration.

They stared at each other for a long moment before Aziraphale realized something. He could feel a heavy emotion in the air, and he could only sense it because he had worked directly under Gabriel for so long. Something thick and dark. A heavy burden. Something cold and sticky, bitter like the worst medicine.

“The war isn’t why you’re here, after all.” Aziraphale murmured, brows knitting and mouth curving into a pout.

“No. It isn’t. And don’t look at me like that, sunshine.” Gabriel huffed, silently commanding the shorter to NOT feel sorry for him.

He pursed his lips a moment before sighing. “I’ll go through my archives, and I’ll make some transcripts you can take with you. But I’m not sure how much use my information will be.”

“It’s better than nothing.” Gabriel looked down at the white armchair and seated himself, crossing his legs and clasping his hands in his lap.

Aziraphale turned and went into the back room, making himself busy.

\---------

Across the way, Xaslem and Crowley were having their own discussion. The two demons seated themselves, turning so they could keep an eye on the two. They were both ready and willing to jump to Aziraphale’s defense regardless of whether or not the angel really needed help.

“How’s it been?” Crowley questioned.

“Meh.” She shrugged. “I haven’t spent much time with him. He’s spent this whole time so far fucking with his phone.”

“I’m sorry Beelzebub stuck you with him.”

“I’m the only one she trusts. Well, besides Dagon. Enough to threaten me.”

“Damn…” Crowley rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s no big deal. Been, what, six ages?”

He frowned. “If it was ‘no big deal,’ you wouldn’t have been trying to throw up when you called us to check in.”

“It wasn’t because it was HIM.” Xaslem frowned, folding her arms. “You didn’t see the state of him, or patch him up after his crash.”

After a moment, Crowley nodded, conceding. “Right. … I don’t think that’s ever something someone would want to click their heels about. Unless they’re insane.”

“I’ve been okay, though. I can hold a conversation with him without getting too uptight. That’s better than I can say for how I act in thunderstorms.”

He grunted.

“Do you think the other angels will come after him?”

“Probably. Especially if they believe Metatron instead of him. Since Mets is supposedly the ‘Voice of God,’ I doubt anyone will take Gabriel’s side. Either out of belief, or fear of Falling. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few demons tried something, too. He did a lot of the smiting.”

She pouted, growing quiet.

“I just can’t figure out how Falling works, now. I thought I had it figured out, before. That She was pissed at us and ripped Her Grace from us. Makes me wonder what parlor trick Metatron has up his sleeve.”

“That’s two of us.” Xaslem told him. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t on my mind.”

A long pause came between them. Neither of them talked about their Falls. Xaslem could guess how bad Crowley’s had been, as she had seen other people fall to the circle of Heresy. And Crowley had seen her Fall in person when she crashed down in the circle of Lust. Whatever could’ve been said on the matter was known… and neither wished to address the issue now presented by the recent turn of events – by Metatron.

Crowley cast the angels another glance. “I don’t want to know where you’ll end up if you quit. You won’t have the same out me and Aziraphale did. But whatever’s running through his mind, it’s gonna be hairbrained and panicked. And that’s gonna land you both in danger.”

“I know.” She popped her knuckles and wrists before pulling a Jolly Rancher from her pocket and shoving it in her mouth. “And I know keeping him alive is ideal, since he’s the only one who knows what’s up.”

“Exactly.”

Xaslem glanced at the angels. “If he hurts either of you, I’ll discorporate him, consequences be damned.”

Crowley snorted. “Xas, you realize that Aziraphale was a Cherub. Is still technically a Cherub, despite what’s on his records. He could break most people in half if he wanted to. And for that matter, I used to be a Seraph. I can handle myself.”

At this, she snorted. “That just means you’re both grossly incompetent and suck at communicating.”

“We’re, ah…” He folded his arms. “We’re working on that.”

A laugh escaped her, and she shook her head. “Anyways, how’ve things been with you two?”

“Good.” Crowley told her. “We’re considering moving. Getting a cottage in South Downs. Keeping our places for if we need them, but getting our own place to have together.”

“Really? Sounds nice.” Xaslem propped her head and pointed at his hand. “And, that?”

He looked down at his pinky, where he sported a new ring to match Aziraphale’s. He flushed bright red and couldn’t look at her.

“Relax. It’s cute.” She grinned. “Which one of you proposed?”

“We ended up proposing at the same time.”

She grinned toothily. “Oh, fuck that’s adorable…”

“Shut up. All I had was a box because I wanted him to pick his own ring but he had a ring and I went with it—Stop laughing!”

She was trying to muffle her cackling into her palm, struggling not to grin. He glared at her until it subsided, and she smiled at him. “Want me to get you a hellhound? Nice guard dog disguised as a pug or something?”

“A pug?” Crowley drawled. “Really, now?”

“Honey, if I get you a great dane it’ll turn the size of a draft horse. Oh! What about a Boston terrier? Or an Airedale?”

“I’ll run the idea by Aziraphale. See what he thinks.”

“Good.”

“Besides. Dogs hate you. Even hellhounds hate you.”

Xaslem shrugged. “That’s what pet carriers are for.”

He glanced aside, noticing the angels had fallen quiet and Aziraphale had handed a rather large stack of papers to Gabriel. They also heard the shorter angel stating it wasn’t everything, but that he could get started and Aziraphale would send more if he found anything.

“Well, looks like curtain call.” Crowley muttered.

They stood, and he hugged her, patting her back. A rare show of affection, from him.

“Be careful out there, Xas.”

“Same to you.” In her usual feline way, she lightly brushed against his side as she walked off. “Ready to go, pancake?”

Gabriel stood. “Must you?”

“Yep.”

He cast her a halfhearted, withering stare as they left the bookshop. Aziraphale and Crowley watched them depart and walk down the street, out of view.

“So. How was the talk?” Crowley looked to his husband.

“About as you expect.” Aziraphale sighed heavily. “He seems rather lost.”

“Go figure.”

“Dear…”

“Angel, just because you forgave him doesn’t mean I can. Please. Just let me hang onto that. For both of us.”

“Crowley, I haven’t forgiven him. That’s the thing. And I don’t know if I ever will, dear.” Aziraphale frowned, glancing away and wringing his hands before meeting his husband’s gaze. “While I do sense some semblance of remorse from him, I don’t forgive him. Not yet, if ever.”

“Ngk…” He looked away, only to tense and hunch his shoulders as the angel clasped his chin and turned his face to again look at him.

“If he were here for any other reason besides this matter with Metatron… I’d sooner discorporate him than let him near you, dear boy.”

His brows arched upwards.

“We’re finally able to be together. I’m not about to let anything change that, my love.” After a moment, he smiled gently and kissed the demon’s cheek.

Crowley flushed, and nodded, nuzzling the angel’s temple. “Now that they’re gone… Dinner? I’m sure our table’s probably open.”

“That sounds wonderful, dear.”

\---------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Okay. Went back. Did more research. IDK why everyone thinks Crowley is Raphael when Kokabiel is a Fallen Angel who hung the stars. So this fic has changed a bit. Crowley was Kokabiel. Raphael is a different person entirely.


	9. Friction

Aziraphale had sent some transcripts to the house. Vast stacks of papers, tabbed and organized into a manuscript, neatly labeled. Everything about Falling and everything to do with it.

The work kept Gabriel busy, but Xaslem found herself getting annoyed. He liked to pace, and since the office he’d been downgraded to wasn’t nearly as big as she imagined his was, he tended to pace the living room, going section by section, highlighting pertinent information as he found it.

No amount of yowling or sneering seemed to bother him. She did her best to ignore him, and he seemed to do the same.

Two days. It’d been two days since visiting the bookshop. Nearly a week since he’d crashed. While curiosity tugged at her – it tended to do that – she curtailed it pointedly. The new revelations didn’t change much, and whatever he was researching didn’t matter. None of it did.

She tried focusing on her movie. While Jurassic Park wasn’t as good as the book had been, it was close enough to be enjoyable. Part of her hoped they did a more accurate remake in the future, but with the Jurassic World franchise using Wu as their antagonist, she doubted it would ever happen. And, after all, it was a classic. One of THE classics.

Xaslem arched a brow when she heard Gabriel stop pacing. There was a long moment of silence between them, with her listening.

Gabriel debated with himself for what felt like hours. There weren’t many people he could ask about this sort of thing. Aziraphale had never been present at one of the Casting Ceremonies. In both wars, people Fell by being shot out of the air and plummeting through the stardust dunes of Purgatory down to Hell – and those who rebelled and didn’t Fall in battle were cast down after the fact. Asking Crowley was, of course, out of the question, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask Beelzebub. 

“Is there anything you could tell me about Falling?” He suddenly asked, out of nowhere.

She cocked a brow at him. “Pretty sure you were there. And I’m pretty sure you were the one who shot me down. What else is there to know?”

“Whatever means or device Metatron’s using, for one. If the Almighty is truly absent, She isn’t the one ripping Grace from Fallen angels. And that same light from the observatory was seen in the War, and the Battle of Eden. And when you Fell.”

“And what makes you think I’d know what it is?”

No answer came.

Xaslem’s eyes narrowed, a more sinister smile on her mouth, saccharine and mean. “Scared it could happen to you?”

He swallowed hard, staring at her. Turning away from that intense gaze, he made his way down the hall into his office, closing the door behind him.

\---------

Metatron’s right brow twitched as he glared out over the expanse of Heaven. His jacket was removed, draped on the plush, white office chair that sat behind his great, curved marble desk. His observatory was quiet, save for the metronome on the corner of his desk, which ticked away at a steady rhythm to mimic a clock.

Sandalphon had recovered from the impromptu wounds. Shaken, of course. He couldn’t look at the Seraph, and had closed the window shutters of his new office, formerly Gabriel’s office.

A familiar, androgynous voice crackled over the speaker by the metronome. [Metatron, Archangel Michael wishes to see you.]

“Thank you, Hofniel. Send her up.”

The Archangel whom served as his secretary hung up. Hofniel had been busy, lately, of course. Many angels had come up to speak with him, though far fewer since the last Fall. Good. They had enough sense to be afraid.

The beep of the elevator sounded, and he turned away from the broad windows of his observatory. Michael was poker-faced, as was her usual, but her posture was stiff. Ready to bolt. So much like her siblings, she had a sense when to run and when to fight, and he could see that something telling her ‘run away now you stupid girl.’

Metatron forced a soft expression, turning to her. “Michael. Part of me expected to see you up here, sooner. Are you well?”

“I’m fine.” Michael stated. “Worried.”

“I know. I… imagine you have questions.”

She hesitated, staring at him. His hands were steepled downward in front of him. She could only imagine how exhausted he was, after the past week. She felt selfish, coming up to question him, but she needed answers, comfort aside.

“Do you really think Gabriel is a traitor?” She asked him.

“Michael…” Metatron’s normally smooth, svelte voice sounded tired.

“I tried speaking to Sandalphon, but he refused to say anything. Even to Uriel.”

He pursed his lips, weighing his options in his mind. “I saw discrepancies. Ones I didn’t understand. I asked Gabriel to attend the meeting early, and he showed up. When I questioned him… he lashed out. Sandalphon stepped in his way. By the time I had drawn my blade…”

Michael didn’t want to believe it. Her brother was a simple but loyal sort. He knew the Plan, and he followed it. And for all his idiotic moments, Gabriel would know better than to attack a Seraph. Metatron could obliterate someone easily, were it in his nature. He had cast down Lucifer himself, despite the pain of a broken friendship… because he was the only one powerful enough to do so. Her mind drifted to Gabriel’s former comment about there being no ‘back channels.’

“What discrepancies?” She finally asked him.

“Leaving his post repeatedly, even when not checking in on Aziraphale. Always alone. In a park frequented by demons, no less. I merely intended to ask him of it, but I never expected…” Metatron winced, gazing aside out the windows.

“He always said he’d go to the park to clear his head.”

Metatron gave her the most restrained look of pain Michael had ever seen. “And you believe that, after what’s happened?”

Her gaze fell, brows knit. “I don’t know what to believe.”

“Michael…” He strode toward her and set his hands on her shoulders. Gently so. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s difficult. But we must keep our faith in the Lord in this trying time. We can’t lose hope.”

She nodded. “Yes… You’re right.”

Metatron pulled his hands back, clasping them behind himself. He strode to the window, gazing out mournfully.

“Has there been any sign of him?” Michael questioned.

“No. Hashmal, Mebahiah, and Nanael have been searching for days. They found where he landed, and sensed a demonic presence, but little else.”

“Uriel said she’d shattered two of his wings.” Michael paled a bit. “There’s no way he’d be able to get up, much less fight off a demon.”

“There were no signs of a struggle. Some blood. But I presume he was miracled to another location. I suspect your younger brother, Crowley—”

“Crowley?”

Metatron blinked at her, brows furrowing. “That’s the name Kokabiel goes by, nowadays, is it not? Many Fallen change their names.”

She gave no answer, staring at him.

“I suspect he may have taken him to another location. And none of Gabriel’s accomplices were willing to reveal information before they Fell.”

Again, Michael felt a touch guilty. With everyone in a tizzy with Gabriel’s apparent betrayal, Metatron had taken it upon himself to deal with the conspirators, all of whom had professed their innocence with all the fervor that Lucifer’s followers had, before the war.

She waited for the longest moment. “Why hasn’t he Fallen?”

Metatron hesitated. “I’m not certain you’ll like the answer.”

“Tell me. I… I need to know.”

He turned toward her. “Your tether. I suspect that, as his twin, your pooled Grace is keeping him from Falling.”

She swallowed hard, feeling like the whole of her celestial form was pressing up against her throat.

“Michael… I know this is difficult. I know this is painful. But this entire situation is very dangerous. … You should consider severing your tether to him. If not for Heaven’s sake, then your own. I don’t wish to see you Fall. Not even because of him.”

Michael stared at him. After what felt like hours, she nodded, and hesitated. “I could help capture him.”

“Capture him?”

“Yes. Surely he could be imprisoned. What if the demons have done something to him? Bewitched him, or have him under duress?”

Metatron gave a thoughtful look. “Possibly… But how would you suggest going about it?”

“I… beg your and Her forgiveness, Metatron. But I have a means. Someone in Hell who owes me a favor. I would be willing to acquire a spool of unholy wire. Gabriel could be brought back to Heaven without issue.”

He considered for a long moment. “Your loyalty has never faltered, Michael. You’re not the one in question. You are forgiven. … Bring me the wire. I’ll see the search party is given it. He’ll be brought home. And he’ll receive a hearing. That is all I can promise.”

Michael swallowed hard, forcing a tight ‘thank you’ from her throat before turning and marching from his office. The elevator took her back down.

Alone once more, Metatron heaved a sigh. Now, he would need to wait. When Michael found Gabriel, if she severed their tether as siblings, then this entire problem could be wrapped up that much faster.

Waiting was always the worst part of anything.

\---------

He was getting nowhere.

This wasn’t like signing documents or shuffling things through the chain of command. No, this was meticulous, and tedious. Gabriel was combing through any and all information Aziraphale deigned to send his way – and it was a surprising amount, considering. He’d gone through three highlighters and several packs of staples, and had to miracle a filing cabinet so he had someplace to put it all.

Cursing under his breath, he dropped the papers in front of him and rubbed his temples. It was a wealth of information relating to the history of all that had happened, albeit recorded from a human point of view. None of it was very helpful.

He knew what went into a Fall. Part physically casting an angel from Heaven, part ripping the Grace from their bodies, part ceremony to show underlings the penalty of straying from the Plan. A plan that never truly existed to begin with. He sat back and dragged his hands down his face.

How did angels Fall? How did Metatron gain control of it? Where was the Almighty? Gabriel had more questions than answers, if he had any answers at all.

He COULD call Crowley. As soon as the idea of calling his sibling occurred to him, it faded and made the sick feeling worse. Crowley may have saved his life, but he doubted he’d get further than that. And asking Aziraphale was likewise out of the question. After the failed execution… Gabriel knew that bridge had likely been burned beyond salvaging.

That left the idea of asking Xaslem again, and that notion made his mouth feel dry and tacky. Made his stomach twist and make it feel like his heart was in his throat. No. That wasn’t going to happen.

“What have I done?” Gabriel muttered sat back in his chair, gazing up at the ceiling. “What am I doing?”

Of course, no answer came.

After a moment, he sat up straight and rested his elbows on his desk, clasping his hands before him. “Lord… I know I’ve made mistakes. Several of them recent, some very old. But… please, give me the strength to overcome this. Please, just… just show me what need to do.”

Silence surrounded him. He sighed.

“Amen.”

The silence continued. He gazed down at the papers. The words were starting to blend together into a nonsense haze, and he was rapidly wishing he was anywhere but here, in what had become his new office. With a huff, he stood and left the house before porting himself over to St. James park. The usual glamor turned mortal eyes away, allowing him to arrive unnoticed, and a snap of his fingers had his clothes replaced with his usual grey sweats.

A jog usually helped. There’d been plenty of times when he’d left his Heavenly office to just get some peace of mind. The park was often quiet, save for people feeding the ducks and swans. He occasionally saw Aziraphale and Crowley during his jogs, but he usually gave them a wide berth, despite the streak of envy he felt at how Aziraphale was brave enough to socialize with the fallen Seraph where Gabriel wasn’t. He wasn’t proud of his sins, especially the obvious ones.

He pushed the thought aside, continuing his way down the main path. He only hesitated when he saw he was coming up on Xaslem, who was sauntering her way down a side-path that curved around a large pond and a few trees. Moreover, she was walking toward a group of preoccupied children.

Xaslem slowed her pace when she saw the gaggle of kids around an old maple tree. They were staring up at where a brightly colored disk had gotten caught up in the branches. She saw no chaperone, which surprised her. It always surprised her when people let their spawn run about with no one to look after and protect them.

“I could climb it.” One girl said. “Here. Lift me up on—”

“A bit dangerous, isn’t it?” Xaslem’s voice announced her presence.

They turned, staring at her with varied expressions. A couple suspicious, but most worried she’d get them in trouble.

“You kids are a little young to start breaking bones.”

“You threatening us, lady?” One of the older boys puffed his chest out.

“Nope.” Xaslem peered up. “Want me to get it for you?”

“If we can’t climb the tree, what makes you think you can?”

Rather than answer verbally, Xaslem sprinted at the tree. Flakes of bark came off as she ninja-ran partway up the trunk before bringing her hands up and sinking her claws in. To them, it simply looked like she was gripping the bark. From there, she hauled herself up and, with perfect – inhuman – balance, she strode across one branch and picked up the frisbee. The children stared as she then stepped off the branch, falling some five meters to land primly on her feet while barely bending her knees. They were in awe, staring as she handed the oldest boy the frisbee.

“Because I’m good at it.” She ruffled his hair before sliding her hands into her pockets and moving to walk off.

“Hey, lady.” One girl spoke up.

She paused, turning to look back at them.

“I like your contacts.” The girl said, smiling. “They’re really pretty.”

“Thanks.” A very small, brief smile crossed her face before she went back to aloof. “Try not to lose your frisbee again.”

Chattering amongst themselves, the kids took off in the opposite direction of her. When she turned to again continue on her way, she only made it a step before halting. She saw Gabriel, in a sweatsuit, jogging. Why? For what fucking reason? Their corporations were as they chose, not built up with exercise or other stupid notions. He was rather fit. So why? And he looked ridiculous, besides.

“Look at that! You can blend in, after all.” Xaslem drawled in a sarcastic tone even he couldn’t miss. “Need something, pancake?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Gabriel shrugged, hands clasped in front of him.

“Oh. So, we just… bumped into one another. Yay.” She feigned a smile and shrugged, doing an odd kind of shimmy with her shoulders.

“Do you just normally associate with humans?”

“What, the kids?”

He watched as she glanced back at the tree, noticing the claw marks she’d left. The afternoon sun gave her pallid flesh a soft, cream-colored glow and made her eyes look more gold than green. High cheekbones, narrow jaw… a faint softness in her cheeks and a silvery scar on her left brow he hadn’t seen before due to her bangs.

She shrugged at him. “I figured helping them was a demonic thing to do. I mean, it’s why we Egregor were wiped out. Heaven’s schtick seems to be killing them. What was the preferred method…? Oh yeah! Drowning.”

He clenched his jaw, sighing through his nose.

“Did you honestly expect me to hurt them?” Her brows furrowed sharply, and her sarcasm had been replaced with actual but mild offense.

“I didn’t know what to expect.” Gabriel informed her. “You’re a demon.”

“Demons aren’t the ones who have to say, ‘Be not afraid.’”

When she pulled her hand from her pocket, he thought she’d lash out. Instead, she had something small in her hands. The wrapper crinkled. Oh. Hard candy. The bright red lozenge was shoved into her mouth, the wrapper back into her pocket. A snap of her finger called up one of those odd, two-wheeled devices he’d seen humans use – a flat board they could stand on and ride it around rather than simply walking.

She stood on it, and motioned for him to continue his jog. When he did, Xaslem followed, riding on her hoverboard alongside him with ease and grace most people lacked. Perfect balance was one of the perks of her demonic aspect.

“So. Why’re you out here, anyways?” Xaslem muttered.

“Jogging helps clear my head.” He informed her. “Sometimes, I’d find a span of a few minutes to get out of my office.”

“Mm.”

“I suppose I’m thinking about what Aziraphale said.”

“And what’s that?” She drawled, not particularly interested.

“Something about saving the world because the world is worth it.” Gabriel sighed, wincing at the sound of her crunching the candy between her teeth.

“It is. You just haven’t been around enough to see that.”

“Well?” Gabriel looked over at her.

Xaslem cocked a brow at him. “Well, what?”

“You’re supposed to be my liaison. So liaison.”

“Hah!” She gave a scoffing laugh and looked up at him. “I don’t have to do shit for you except keep you alive and corporated.”

He sputtered soundlessly, doing a double-take glance at her at being told off so easily.

“Whatever.” She turned and started going back the way they came, content to leave him behind. “See you later, pancake. Things to do. People to tempt.”

A heavy sigh escaped him. “Later, then.”

When she heard his footfalls grow just distant enough, Xaslem halted, turned, and watched him a moment. Something warm twisted in her chest and she snarled to herself. The sweats fit well, accenting broad shoulders and muscled limbs while still leaving much to the imagination. He still looked ridiculous, of course. Leave it to that bastard to have a decent looking corporation, and find a way to screw with it.

“Idiot.” Xaslem muttered to herself, shaking her head.

\---------


	10. Lull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two new OCs!
> 
> Rosier - formerly the Egregore Dominion Yaqum; animal aspect is an entelodont; wings are those of a shoebill (black due to Falling)
> 
> Sarfael - formerly the Archangel Principality Saren; animal aspect is an African civet, wings are those of a greater flamingo (black due to falling)

Tea was one of the first human rituals she’d picked up. As Beelzebub’s coffee fetcher, Xaslem was also obligated to get tea for Beelzebub’s mate, as Dagon preferred tea. Xaslem had never seen the point until, while traveling on the Silk Road from Peking to Kairo, she had been tired and invited to join the merchants for evening tea.

Then, she understood. And her errands became a joint sort of effort. Dagon liked those rich, medicinal teas like Rooibos and Chai. Xaslem preferred the more… bright flavors, for lack of better term. Green and white teas, usually, but she also liked black tea. Then the English invented teatime. The ritual of morning tea was something Xaslem had latched onto, even blending her own flavors and preferring loose leaf over sachets. Americans making sweet iced tea was just a bonus, and she did like that in warmer times.

Opening her tea cabinet, Xaslem perused her blends before homing in on what she was in the mood for. A tin of loose leaf white tea with a pinch of green tea, cornflower, marigold, and dried apricots. The blend was inspired by a tin of tea she’d found at a fresh foods market, but had never been able to find again. She’d been desperate enough to make her own.

As she pulled the tea down, she considered. It was a mellow, floral, sweet tea. As unoffensive as possible. She pursed her lips. Her temper had mollified over the course of a day, though thinking about the previous morning still annoyed her. Perhaps Aziraphale was onto something. Gabriel now knew he’d been wrong. Maybe showing him the world was worth something would be helpful. Somehow. Because she wanted an excuse. Needed one.

Sighing, she pulled down two mugs and set about making the tea. Hers in her usual soup mug, his in a regular small coffee mug, both sweetened just to taste.

When she went to his office, the door was open. Why, she could guess. Probably to listen in case something happened, or so she could look in on him. He was at his desk, all modern and chic like the rest of the furniture he’d chosen for his section of the house. Whether miracles could be traced, she didn’t know. The desk was a fashionable thing of alloy and glass, neatly polished. In the corner was a filing cabinet, and there was a chair across the desk from his. Shredder, trash bin, small copy machine… And yet, the large office space looked so vacant and empty, most of its contents up against the walls. After a moment, she realized he’d miracled away the closet. That explained the added room.

“Hey.” She greeted.

Gabriel glanced up at her. She was in a loose, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of cotton, paisley printed pajama bottoms. In her hands were two mugs.

“Can I come in?”

“If you want, I suppose.” Gabriel straightened in his cushy white office chair, uncertain what to do or how to respond.

She strode into the room, and set the smaller mug – white with a square handle and base – down on his desk.

“What’s this?”

“Tea. One of those ‘human experiences’ is tea in the morning. I made a flavor I figured wouldn’t upset your fine sensibilities.” The sarcasm was mild, but present.

He gave her a puzzled look, brows furrowing, before looking down at the cup, and back at her. There was a vague hint of suspicion on his face.

“You’re the one who decided you wanted to experience stuff!” Her shoulders hunched, cheeks flushed as she glanced away, before she paused. “Just try it.”

After a moment, Gabriel set his pen aside and picked up the mug. It was pleasantly warm, little wisps of soft steam rising from the surface of the pale, greenish liquid that smelled rather nice. Faintly grassy and floral. The scent reminded him of the park.

He couldn’t look at her as he took a sip. It’s flavor was… Pleasant. He had tasted so few things in his existence that he didn’t know how to describe it. But it was so, SO much nicer than the ridiculous thing Beelzebub had made him drink. He set the mug down after a couple sips and clasped his hands, still looking down at the cup.

“What? Something wrong with it?” Xaslem questioned, puzzled.

“Best not to overindulge.” He cleared his throat, though he was still staring at the mug. He wanted just a little more of it.

“Overindulge?” A scoff left her. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

“Pardon?” Gabriel looked up at her.

“You heard.” She sipped at her own tea, eyes fluttering closed briefly before she addressed him again. “Eating until you throw up is overindulging.”

He grimaced. “People do that?”

“Some do. … Having a warm cup of tea to soothe your nerves and wake your brain back up isn’t a sin. And I should know, shouldn’t I?” Xaslem glanced him over and bit the corner of her lip. “Enjoy your tea. You look like you could use it.”

\---------

Unless one was on a need-to-know basis in Hell, news traveled rather slowly. And Rosier was NOT on such a basis.

Very few people, even demons, liked him. Once a Dominion, now Fallen to the circle of Greed. Even his own Duke, Valefor, didn’t care for him. But he had a few who served him. Whom had asked for favors other demons wouldn’t do, and thus owed him. Or those who were demons of Greed, like him.

Sarfael fell into all three categories. And he hated it. But he had made his own bed. Dug a little too deep. There weren’t many ways out once someone fell into Rosier’s den.

Said den was a flat carved from a wall in the circle of Greed, overlooking the rivers of molten gold and damned souls. Amidst bridges that looked like they were ripped from shopping malls. Grinding his teeth, Sarfael made his way into the large flat.

The décor was cramped and antiquated. Resembling the era when Britain was obsessed with the world and sending expeditions everywhere. Red velvet cushioned furniture, carven tables, and the like. A suit of samurai armor was on display to one side with heaps of old books at its feet, the table beside it bearing a tiger skin for a tablecloth. Taxidermied animal heads decorated the wall in various places, staring down blankly at the parlor. Other specimens were articulated skeletons, most small and under glass save for an ostrich skeleton off to the side.

Curved staircases opposite of the samurai armor led up to the second floor, a railing allowing people to look down from above. Shelves amongst them and the wall were stocked full of baubles and trinkets, all very valuable but invariably gathering a carpet of dust. The back of the room was occupied by a mock sunroom of black glass with withered, mostly dead plants that never seemed to fully rot, perfuming the air with a stench of wilted flowers. The plants stood in a semi-circle around a harpsicord.

That was where Rosier was. Seated at that harpsichord, busy playing Moonlight Sonata.

Rosier was a tall figure. Six feet, or so. Had what humans would consider a good bone structure. Greasy black hair was brushed back, sticking to itself. His button-up shirt was open low, not buttoned until it disappeared beneath a coal-colored vest. His coat had no lapels. Black slacks, leather shoes… All black, save for the silver chain round his neck, from which an ornate ring of ruby, obsidian, and rose gold hung.

Swallowing hard, Sarfael made his way between stacks of books and tiptoed closer. Like a whipcrack, the music stopped, and Rosier’s baleful onyx eyes were squarely on HIM. He froze like a deer in spotlight.

“Well?” Rosier’s voice was a low, smooth thing with the faintest country drawl to it.

“I, uh… I have some news. Sir.” The shorter demon supplied, chewing his lower lip.

He stood.

Sarfael backed up a step and fell on his ass over a pile of books. When he looked up, Rosier was standing over him. “It’s about Xaslem!”

Rosier arched a brow. In all of three seconds, he regarded his lackey. The Fallen Archangel was a narrow creature. Average height, sallow features, pale blue eyes… Warm black, chin-length hair was parted down the middle. No facial hair to speak of, making him seem more youthful despite his gaunt features. His attire was plain, perhaps comfortable. Dark t-shirt, flannel button-up with sleeves rolled to his elbows, jeans with holes in the knees, and sneakers.

“Go on.” Rosier growled.

The shorter demon was babbling, then. Telling him about Metatron, and Gabriel getting chased from Heaven, and him being assigned to Xaslem for her to protect, by Beelzebub. Sarfael only fell quiet when the Fallen Dominion held up a hand. The shorter demon shut his mouth with a clack of teeth.

“Assigned to protect Gabriel. Archangel Gabriel.”

He nodded frantically. Rosier sneered, turning away. He paced slowly. Moving like a circus animal in a cage too small. After a moment, he turned, hand resting on the back of an armchair.

“Find Barbatos. Tell him I want to speak with him. Bring him here.”

Sarfael nodded, scrambling to his feet and rushing out the way he’d come in. Rosier wasn’t in a mood for company, that was plain to see.

\---------

Xaslem watched the TV screen carefully, pen in hand and notebook against her bent-up legs as she reclined on her side of the couch, pillows between her back and the arm. She was clicking her pen against her chin. When she heard footfalls behind her, she turned to look.

“Where do I…?” Gabriel trailed off, the now empty coffee mug in hand.

“Just put it in the dishwasher.” Xaslem told him.

“What?”

Gathering he didn’t know what a dishwasher was – she suddenly remembered Aziraphale telling her about the ‘pornography incident’ – she set her notebook aside and led him into the kitchen, to the large contraption beside the sink.

“This is the dishwasher.” She opened it and slid the top rack out before taking the mug gently from his hand and setting it down.

He watched her slide the shelf back in.

Xaslem pointed to a divot on the inside of the lid. “This thing here is where you put dish detergent – big green bottle under the sink – then flip it closed, close this thing,” she closed the dishwasher and pointed, “and push this button. You only have to run it when its full.”

Looking up at him, she saw that look on his face. That puzzled face with pinched brows and narrow eyes, mouth set in a small, flat pout.

“So, how was your tea?” She strode back to the couch, sitting back down.

Gabriel strode over to join her, sitting down with legs crossed. “I… enjoyed it. Though, I preferred it when it went cold. Drinking anything is strange enough. More so when it’s warm.”

“Fair enough. At least you didn’t choke on it trying to drink for the first time. … Was it better than the scotch Beelzebub made you drink?”

He groaned, wincing when he remembered that burning, cloying taste. After a moment, he glanced between her and the TV. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out how to make my own bouillabaisse. I don’t like any recipes, so I’m making my own recipe. Watching how other people do it.”

“And what in Heaven is bouillabaisse?”

“Fish stew. Not sure how you’d feel about it seeing as Heaven frowns upon shellfish, which it has in it. But I like shellfish. King crab is amazing. Provided it’s sustainably harvested.”

Another wince. “They’re the insects of the sea. Why would you eat that, of all things?”

“Pretty sure I just told you.” She wrote something down in her notebook, not bothering to look at him.

“Why eat at all? I don’t imagine demons need food anymore than angels do.”

“It’s not a matter of need. Food can build bridges between cultures and rapports between people. It can make you feel good. Cooking and eating can both reduce stress. Having a full stomach can help you sleep – sleep also reducing stress and helping you recharge after a long day.”

“So, one of those things integral to the human experience.”

This made her pause and gaze up at him. “You can’t quantify ‘the human experience,’ pancake. It has so many nuances, so many things, that I can’t tell you everything you’d need to know. It’s not something you SHOULD be told. It’s something you should experience for yourself as you go.”

“And you mean to tell me all that nonsense was worth it to Aziraphale and Crowley, enough to risk their lives?”

Xaslem was nonplussed. “Yeah, actually. Among other things. They’ve been here, and seen it all. Earth’s been their home. Usually a kinder home than above or below. And it’s a home they’ve shared together. It allowed them to love one another without you idiots interfering. So, yes. I’d say it was worth it to them. And me.”

“How so, on your end?”

“Because – and I imagine this was also a factor for them – it was supposedly written Heaven would inevitably win, and all demons and humans would die. They didn’t want to lose their home. Or each other.”

Gabriel stared at her, shifting slightly in his seat.

“Did you care about that part? The ‘everyone except angels dies’ part?” Her voice was more curious than upset, but he could hear a hint of hurt at the edge of her voice. “Cause I know you knew about it.”

“I did know. But there was nothing I could do.” He told her, looking away and hating how helpless he sounded. “I thought it was divinely ordained. I wasn’t in a position to do anything about it.”

She tilted her head.

“If Hell could hypothetically win, wouldn’t the reverse happen? All angels would die?”

Xaslem shrugged. “A pipe dream, really. We both know it wouldn’t work. Beelzebub promised us she’d do everything she could to keep us alive. Some of us talked about looking for surviving humans. Helping them stay afloat until they could rebuild on their own. But we know that’s not what would happen.”

He opened his mouth to remark, only to fall quiet as music came on her phone where it lay on the coffee table. 

* {And I need a drank, drank. Don’t want no juice. No Juice. A splash of grape drank, with my Grey Goose. Help me get loose.}

Xaslem cast the device a withering glare. She snapped her fingers, silencing it.

“What was that?” A half-scoff, half-laugh left Gabriel.

“When angels and demons have specific things we fixate on – Crowley’s Bentley, Aziraphale’s bookshop, my phone – some of our aura rubs off. They develop a bit of… personality. And my phone, here, thinks it’s a therapist. Plays what it thinks others need to hear.”

“And your phone believes you need alcohol, because…?”

She gave no answer, pausing for a long moment before looking at him. “Look, if you’re dead set on wanting to go out and do things… I could. If you want.”

Xaslem saw surprise clear as day on his face, his brows pinching in and up, eyes searching her face. Gabriel cleared his throat. “I can’t. I’m still busy with the transcripts Aziraphale sent over.”

There was a twinge of disappointment in her chest, which she hid behind a cool, casual air. She shrugged. “Fine by me.”

\---------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Grape Drank by KOVAS
> 
> AN: Rosier’s den looks like (https://i.pinimg.com/originals/37/70/88/3770887a3c0b9eab322345f9ad35227b.jpg). I don’t feel like I described it very well.
> 
> AN: And in all seriousness, if anyone knows what tea I’m referencing, tell me the brand, because I want some. I only had it once. White/ green loose leaf in a white and green, round tin with a plastic lid. Had dried fruit (peach or apricot) and cornflower petals in it. It is the best tea I ever had. And like all things I love, I can never find it again. T-T


	11. Harsh, but True

In her bedroom, Xaslem groaned, pillow over her head.

She could hear the incessant ringing, over and over. Her own phone was powered off, and the ringtone was different, besides. She knew it was Gabriel’s phone. The phone she had given him, programmed with her number, Crowley’s number, Aziraphale’s number, and Beelzebub’s number. Her excuse was that she couldn’t babysit him 24/7, which she’d conveyed by post-it note when she’d left it on his desk.

Now, she regretted her decision to give him the stupid thing.

Kicking the covers away, she gave a long, languid stretch before standing and marching to the living room. His jacket was draped on his side of the sofa, and she could hear his damn phone. A low, feline growling left her, like that of a tiger, as she stalked toward the device, snatched it from his jacket pocket, and carried it to his side of the house.

The door to Gabriel’s office opened and his phone landed on his desk with a thud. Startled, he tried to glare at Xaslem for the unprovoked instigation, but faltered. His eyes widened when he saw a decidedly tired demon standing at the door, wearing loose and airy clothes, including a t-shirt that hung off one shoulder. He could see uncountable silvery scars along her forearms, intersecting and crisscrossing like a nonsense puzzle.

“It’s for you, pancake. Please answer your phone instead of leaving it where I can hear it.” Xaslem huffed, too tired to really snarl or put much heat into it before she pulled the door closed and walked away.

Sighing, he put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

[Pancake. What an adorable name.] Beelzebub almost chuckled. 

“I still don’t know why she calls me that. Anyway, what do you need?” He wedged the phone between his head and his shoulder, shuffling through papers. “I’m in the middle of something.”

[Just a zzmall update.]

He dropped the papers, sitting up proper in his chair. “What’s happened? What’ve you heard?”

[Very little. Zzandalphon is in your former position. Metatron izz apparently claiming you’re a double-agent, though he can’t explain why you haven’t Fallen. The ones dumb enough to azzk have Fallen, though. Been cast down as your conspiratorzzz.]

Gabriel shuddered, leaning over his desk, propping his elbows and rubbing his brow. “How many?”

[Zzo far? Fifteen. And that’s more at once than we’ve seen in thousands of yearzz. … I’m surprised you care.]

“Things are different, now.” He offered weakly, forcing his voice steady.

[So they are…] Beelzebub trailed off a moment. [Aside from that, thingzz have been rather quiet.]

“I wish it was quiet, here.” Gabriel glanced at the door. “Is there anyone else you can send? Xaslem and I… we don’t exactly see eye-to-eye.”

[So? Suck it up.]

“But—” 

[I didn’t azzign her on a whim. Xaslem, like most Virtues and Egregore… can be rather vicious. She’s the best I can spare, given the circumstances. The fallen Cherubs and Thrones have to stay and protect against the newfound threat. You understand, yezz?]

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I get it.”

[Good.]

“Before you hang up!”

There was a pause and a rustle of cloth as if she had been midway in doing so. [What?]

“I wanted to know… about Falling. I’m still trying to figure out this whole mess, and…”

[A specific Fall, or in general?] The asked, unsurprised.

“Just in general.”

[Only a handful survive. Half of those few survivors usually commit permanent suicide. … Did you think it’d be all zzunshine and rainbowzzz? Fun?]

“No… I didn’t.”

[I’ll keep you posted.] They then hung up.

There was a thunk as Gabriel dropped his phone onto his desk. He stared down at the papers, rubbing his temples. The letters were suddenly incomprehensible. As much as he wanted to just slide them off the desk into the trash bin, he gathered them up, straightened them, and set them aside.

Fifteen. Fifteen angels had Fallen because they asked what had happened to him. Despite never eating, Gabriel felt bile rise in the back of his throat.

It was his fault. 

Yet, what was he supposed to have done? Allowed Metatron to kill him and go on with whatever he was on about? It had… It had felt like the war. Gut reaction. He could’ve handled it rationally—No. He’d been pinned under a Seraph. The last Arch-Seraph in Heaven. One of the Almighty’s first creations. And Metatron had intended to kill him. Would’ve succeeded of his corporation hadn’t had ages-old muscle memory.

How did angels Fall? How did Metatron gain control of it? Where was the Almighty? Gabriel had more questions than answers, if he had any answers at all. 

Swallowing hard, he shuffled his paperwork aside and decided he needed to get up and move. To of off and just do something.

He needed to head to the park. Just for a little bit.

\---------

Xaslem could guess where Gabriel had gone when she emerged from her room, fully dressed, sometime later. She waited a bit before heaving a sigh and shunting herself over to the park.

The place wasn’t very occupied. It was ten in the morning on a Tuesday. Most people were busy and the park would remain largely empty until lunch, and until most workplaces let out. Spotting him, Xaslem called up a hoverboard, and was soon moving alongside the angel.

Gabriel glanced at her, his brows furrowed and mouth curved into a slight frown. “I’m not in the mood, Xaslem.”

“Well, neither am I. But here we are.” She shrugged, popping a Jolly Rancher in her mouth before sliding her hands into her jacket pockets.

“If you’re wanting to know what Beelzebub said—”

“I don’t. Nowadays, I prefer keeping out of the loop unless it concerns me personally.”

“That doesn’t exactly sound like you.”

She shrugged, pouting as she glanced aside. “Not like knowing changes anything.”

“Once the others figure things out, everything will be fine.” Gabriel huffed, gaze now trained on the trail before them.

“Gabriel. Honey, baby, sweety, pancake…”

He frowned, glancing briefly at her.

“They’re not GOING to figure it out.” Xaslem looked up at him, voice and expression both casual. “Do you know why?”

No answer. Only an annoyed glare, orchid purple eyes gazing down into her gold-flecked jade ones.

“Because no one is asking questions.”

He blinked, and paled slightly at the reminder, mouth going dry and tacky.

“No one came to check on you. They Excommunicated you, barring you from Heaven, without a single care in the damn world. And I know it’s hard.” Xaslem again gazed ahead, pouting. “But wallowing can get you killed.”

“I don’t have to take advice from you.” Gabriel halted, and she stopped beside him. 

“How long do you think you’ll last without it, huh? Even IF your fellow angels ignore you, you’re forgetting how many demons hate your guts. And not a single one of them gives a flyin fuck that Satan’s your big brother.”

“He saved Crowley.”

“Crowley’s different. Always has been. Why do you think Satan let him go instead of keeping him in Hell?”

Silence was his answer. Gabriel had never thought about that.

“Whether you like it or not, I’m going to give you my advice. Not because I want to, because Crowley’s right as far as I’m concerned. I’m going to give you my advice because Beelzebub asked me to, and I like and respect them just enough for that much.”

A humorless laugh left him at that. “How does Beelzebub gain one’s respect?”

“Understanding? Willing to hear their underlings out? Accepts criticism? Knows how to pick their battles? Doesn’t force promotions on people, and usually avoids demotions when they can?”

He scoffed.

“Because we actually hold trials and present evidence and witnesses instead of just murdering people over a rigid black-and-white social construct?”

“You’re really going to be that hyperbolic?”

“It’s not hyperbolic if it’s true. Jumping straight to a conclusion and execution is, by and large, defined as murder.”

“Mortal laws don’t apply when the battlefield’s at stake.”

“And THAT whole attitude right there,” she pointed and waved her finger at him, “is why you’re not getting any sympathy.”

Gabriel halted – as did Xaslem – and clasped his hands, leaning down as if to mock her height. “Don’t you have better things to do? Somewhere else, maybe?”

There came a noisy crunch of candy between her teeth. “All kinds of things.”

The way she said it made a chill run down his spine, and he straightened as she turned around and went back the way they’d come. The chill hadn’t been… a bad one. What the Hell was that? That suggestive lilt in her voice.

And on her end, Xaslem found herself wondering the same thing, not looking back for fear he’d see the blush spanning her cheeks.

\---------

In terms of where he fell with Rosier, Barbatos liked to think it was simply a case of an owed favor. A very big favor, of course, but a favor regardless. So, when he strode into the infamous nook in the circle of Greed, it was without any serious worries. He knew this day would come, even if it had taken some four-thousand years to do so.

From above, by the railing, Rosier spotted the demon with ease. His corporation was average height and olive-skinned with dark, curly hair slicked back and facial hair trim. The black-pinstriped white zoot suit had a knee-length watch fob woven of unholy wire – a weapon hidden in plain sight, as was any demon’s prerogative.

“So glad you could join me.” Rosier drawled, seeming to glide his way down the spiral stairs to the parlor floor.

“Glad to be here. Sir.” Barbatos nodded, forcing a smile. “I, ah… assume you’re calling in your favor.”

“Very good. Yes. … Have you heard the news about Xaslem and Gabriel?”

“That she was assigned to bodyguard him and all of us being reminded that Metatron’s a dick? Yeah. Just about everyone knows, by now. Everyone down here, anyway.”

“Good.” He halted by the sitting area. “I want you to kill Gabriel.”

A beat of silence passed, a cold sweat gathering on Barbatos’ neck. “Rosier, sir… I get it. I mean, everyone wants a piece of that guy. But Beelzebub—”

“Do you honestly think Beelzebub would care? Or that one angel claiming to know the truth changes anything?” Rosier stalked closer, long but kempt nails dragging the surface of a circular table. “Or are you conveniently forgetting I kept your mate from perishing after her Fall?”

He swallowed hard.

“How is Araxiel, by the way?”

“She’s… Fine. She’s fine.” Barbatos said carefully.

“Good. Good… I’d hate for that to change.”

“Me, too, sir.”

“So. Kill Gabriel for me. I don’t care how. Just get it done. I’ll handle the details with Beelzebub. And we’re even. All squared away. Fair?” Rosier extended a hand.

Slowly, he reached out, and hesitated before shaking it. “Fair.”

\---------

Xaslem had put a movie playlist on her TV and made herself comfy on the couch. Dozing on her back, which she rarely did anymore. Her legs were tucked up comfortably against the back of the couch, close to her body, arms folded in close with one hand on her lower chest and the other hand up by her neck, tucked under her chin.

She barely flinched when she heard Gabriel return. He went to his office, and her awareness drifted for a while, until she fell into a real slumber.

He kept to himself for a few hours. Gabriel knew, despite how much he loathed admitting it, that Xaslem was right. He was, essentially, on his own. Both as a whole, and in his new endeavor.

If he could figure out Falling, how Metatron had assumed control… perhaps he could change it or fix it. Or in the very least expose it. It wouldn’t be a true atonement. He doubted that would ever happen. But it was something. And something was better than nothing.

He filed through the papers again, and again. He had apparently exhausted Aziraphale’s archives, so he combed over the information a second time. He could’ve missed something. Anything. Before giving it much thought, he was out of his office and pacing the living room.

Occasionally, Gabriel glanced at the movie that was playing. Some nonsense to do with ancient Egypt. Xaslem, for her part, appeared still asleep. It wasn’t until the sun had gone down and it was dark out when that changed. Gabriel halted, listening carefully. He heard a very soft whimpering. Little pained things, coming from the demon on the sofa. As soon as he heard it, it was gone.

The Archangel strode to the sofa, gazing down. Xaslem was tense, her face now toward the ceiling. Slowly, he reached a hand down toward her brow.

“Please don’t.” Her voice was calm, lacking malice.

Gabriel pulled his hand back, resting it on the back of the sofa. “Nightmares?”

“Yep.” One eye rolled open to peer up at him lazily. “I’m surprised you know what a nightmare is.”

He ignored the not-so-subtle jab. “How long have you been awake?”

“Not long. I heard you stop pacing.”

He stared at her a moment, spying the lingering tension in her shoulders as she folded her arms. “Why sleep? Especially if you have nightmares. There’s much point, since we don’t need it.”

Xaslem shrugged. “Lots of reasons.”

“Such as?” Gabriel drawled.

“It’s comfortable. Relaxing, most of the time. Dreams and nightmares are just our mind’s way of solving problems, relieving stress, and delivering omens. Sleep, as a whole, is… cathartic.”

He watched her turn over on her side, her back to the back of the sofa. “You have a bed.”

“Imma cat, pancake. The world is my bed.” She paused, and looked back at him. “Were you really going to try and stop it?”

“Why not?” The answering question came without hesitation or thought. Blatant, and open, as always.

To this, she had no answer, and laid back down, snuggling into the throw-pillows without further comment. After a moment, he continued pacing, and she fell back asleep.

\---------


	12. Ambush

He decided to walk today instead of jog. In his usual clothes instead of his sweats, hands in his coat pockets. A heavy sigh escaped Gabriel. He wasn’t getting much of anywhere with his research, which had stalled. He had written down everything that happened during a Fall from Heaven’s side of things. It yielded just… more nothing.

Gabriel had never cared for puzzles. He had better, more important things to do with his time. His duties as Archangel, and the supervisor of Heaven, foremost. Puzzles had always been more Lucifer’s… Satan’s… schtick. And Crowley had been one for riddles, once upon a time. Part of Gabriel wondered if that had changed.

The park – the one he’d chosen for today – was, again, empty. As it was mid-morning and a weekday, humans were busy away at their jobs or whatever it was humans did. In fact, the only other person he saw was Xaslem, whom was on a bench far ahead of him. That explained why she hadn’t been at the house. She was lying back, staring up at the sky.

Xaslem liked clouds. Sometimes. Fluffy like cotton candy. She remembered being invited to make something. And she had made the first cloud. Remembering that, she hated her creations, most of the time. They’d been used to smite mortals, and to drown most of them, once upon a time. The love-hate relation was mutual, it seemed. People always talked about seeing things in clouds, but they never took a definitive shape for her. All she ever saw was condensed water waiting to ruin someone’s day. It was sunny, today, sure… but it still nagged at her. Taunted her.

Like her new issue with Gabriel. She sighed heavily. She was starting to like him, she knew. A creeping, nagging inevitability.

Everyone would go back and think about past events. Wonder. Reminisce. It was normal for all sentient beings. And seeing him crashed to Earth, seeing him on the edge of discorporation, maybe death… That reaffirmed the fact she didn’t hate him. That image haunted her more than she’d like to admit. And she decided she’d never tell him.

“Are you following me?”

She looked at the figure standing by her feet. “This IS the Regents Park, yeah?”

“Yes. It is.”

“Then no. I came here thinking I’d be out of your vicinity.” She stood, brushing imaginary dust off herself. “So, why Regents, today? See Aziraphale and Crowley out for a walk?”

His jaw clenched.

“Figures.” She slid her hands into her pockets. “Walkin the same way?”

After a moment, Gabriel nodded. He and the demon were soon walking side-by-side, her at a slightly faster pace because his height meant he bore a longer stride.

“So. What’s on your mind?”

“Don’t act as if you care.” He muttered with a frown.

Xaslem pouted up at him. “I’m trying to make conversation, you ass.”

A heavy sigh left him. “I was thinking about what you said.”

“Mm.”

“You’re right.”

“Say what, now?” Her brows arched upwards, the demon again looking up at him.

“You’re right. About Heaven.”

She blinked at him, still taking in his words. Knowing it was one thing. Hearing him admit it was another thing entirely.

“You’d think being a part of a system like that would prepare one for the consequences. That it would be easier to accept.”

“It never is.” Xaslem murmured, now looking ahead as they walked. “Something like that hurts even if you see it miles off.”

The statement drew a small, single laugh from him before seriousness crept in again. “You act as if having Fallen doesn’t bother you.”

“It doesn’t. Not really, especially considering what Aziraphale says Heaven turned into. Besides, demons get more freedom. And I’m happy with that most days, despite the occasional side-effects. I’m secure in my new being. If I hadn’t Fallen, I’d be dead, so there’s that, too.”

“That’s… all a good point, I suppose.” He cleared his throat. “He talks about Heaven?”

“Not very often. Usually only if drunk and crying. It takes a lot of alcohol to get him to THAT point, and Crowley usually sobers him up, then. But I’m good at eavesdropping. … I have bigger things to think about than my Fall.”

Gabriel hesitated for a long moment.

“I know you have a question, pancake. Spill it.” Xaslem muttered.

“Does it hurt?”

“To Fall?” Surprise crept into her voice briefly, but she swallowed it down, replacing it with a cool façade. “Immensely. Why do you think I screamed? It wasn’t because of the arrow.”

“Right. I suppose that was an asinine question.”

“No such thing as a dumb question. If you don’t ask questions, you don’t learn. And for all it’s worth… Even after everything that happened… I hope it’s something you never have to go through.”

He paused, and sighed heavily. “It feels like I’m on the fast track getting there.”

“Gabriel…” 

The use of his name made him look over at her.

“You’re an ass. And a dork. And I’m not convinced you’re fully aware, if at all, of how obnoxious, condescending, or awkward you are.”

He frowned.

“You’re flawed. Who the fuck isn’t? However, I’m pretty confident you’re not going to Fall. And I’m not confident in many things, so just take that however you please.”

“I smote you. How could you even say that?”

“Smote? People still use that word?” She shook her head and shrugged. “6000 years is a long time to think about other shit. It hurt, yeah. But I’m over it. Been over it for a while.”

He opened his mouth to comment, only to remain quiet as Xaslem halted. Then, he felt it as well. Three angelic auras coming toward them. Three balls of light were flying across the park. A flash, and the three angels stood before them. Xaslem tensed, standing beside Gabriel and refusing to go anywhere. She felt ages-old instincts flaring up in her. A deep-seated thing in her nature as a former Egregore. A Watcher. A Guardian Angel.

“Stand down, demon.” The apparent leader – a Dominion from his aura – hissed at her. “We’re here for the traitor.”

“Get bent.” Xaslem sneered.

Gabriel held his ground, regarding the trio. “I don’t suppose the three of you would hear me out.”

“You’ve nothing of value to say.” The Dominion leered. “Come with us willingly, and they may have mercy on you.”

“I can’t do that, Hashmal. I can’t just pretend I didn’t see anything. I can’t confess for things I didn’t do. So… No.”

Hashmal bristled, leering venomously. “So be it.”

One of the Principalities with him flicked a hand toward them. Xaslem shot a hand in front of Gabriel, catching the wad of silvery threads before it could finish unravelling. It startled Gabriel enough that he took a step back before snapping his fingers, calling his sword to hand.

Hashmal rushed him, calling a sword to his own hand.

Sparks flew between blades. Hashmal was stronger, despite his stringy build. But Gabriel was more skilled. One-handed, keeping his balance. Keeping his shield arm between him and his opponent. Using the flat of his blade as a shield since he had no actual shield. The blade rang in his hands with each blow. Like a bell.

Xaslem only spared a glance before flinging the wad of silver threads. One Principality was ensnared and flopped to the ground. The other rushed her. She called a butterfly knife to her hand. Xaslem dodged the angel’s blade in fluid, easy motions. Steps and sways as she flipped her knife open. When he lunged, she caught his arm under hers. She brought her knife down, but he caught her wrist.

A crack drew her attention. Glancing aside, Xaslem watched a tree fall, sliced across the trunk. Gabriel’s sword was cracking under his opponent’s hard blows. With a snarl, she brought one foot up and slammed it sideways. The Principality shrieked as his knee broke. He dropped his sword. And then dropped dead as her knife sliced across his throat.

Another crack. Gabriel dropped the broken hilt of his sword and sidestepped. Hashmal’s sword sang past him. Snaring the Dominion’s arm, Gabriel slammed his elbow back against the other’s face. There was a wet crunch and a cry, Hashmal stumbling back. As he dropped his sword, Gabriel snatched it and swung. The Dominion’s headless body fell backwards against the grass.

Just as he looked Xaslem’s way, it was in time to watch her snap Nanael’s neck, the Principality’s cry cutting off. His brows furrowed and he dismissed Hashmal’s sword as he stepped toward her. She was kneeling by Nanael’s twitching body, twining her fingers around what looked like threads of silver. It came unraveled with a slithering sound when she pulled at it, the threads winding around her fingers like a spidery starfish. Once it was off him, there came a wheeze, and silence.

“Is that… unholy wire?” Gabriel paled, staring tensely.

“Yeah.” She stood, looking down at it.

“How did they get it? It’s banned—”

“There’re all sorts of ways to get contraband.” She looked over at him. “The fact is, they planned on using it on you. I assume you know what it does.”

Gabriel nodded. He did know. Unholy wire was used to ensnare angels, cutting off their Grace – blocking their powers – and torturing them with constant pain as their inner Divine Fury tried to banish it from their bodies. All while keeping them conscious and alive. There were horror stories told about it, and he had never witnessed it in person. He shuddered. The use of unholy wire on an angel by other angels was not only unexpected… it was unthinkable. Unconscionable. 

He watched as Xaslem rolled the thread into a ball and snapped her fingers. A red silk ring-box appeared in her hand, and she stuffed the wad into it before snapping the lid closed. The bodies of the discorporated angels were starting to disintegrate, golden embers rising up toward the sky and disappearing some feet above them.

“You’re keeping it?” Gabriel questioned, his tone a bit tense and uneasy.

“Of course I’m keeping it. They’re sending angels after you.” She strode closer, standing beside him, and showed him the little red box. “And requisitions paperwork’s a bitch.”

The sight of it, the notion, made his jaw tighten as he grit his teeth.

Xaslem frowned. “Would you feel better if I promise to never use it on you?”

“And you’d keep that promise?” Gabriel questioned.

She held out her hand, pinky finger extended.

He glanced between her and it, clearly not understanding.

“Pinky swear.” Xaslem told him, and paused. “Hold your hand out, pancake.” 

While he saw no point, he did so, and watched her wrap her pinky finger around his, giving a squeeze.

“I promise, I’ll never use unholy wire on you.” She gave another squeeze and pulled away, sliding the red box into her pocket. “There. Solemn vow.”

“HOW is that a solemn vow?” He questioned, near exasperated.

“I’ll have you know, pinky promises are one of the most solemn vows a person can make.”

“According to who?!”

“Everyone on this planet, probably.” She glanced around.

A snap of her fingers fixed the tree. As he made to miracle away the shattered remains of his sword, she stopped him.

“Leave it. Brighten some human’s day.”

“Why?”

“Because.” She snapped her fingers, summoning a ward. “There. No kids’ll find it. But who knows? Maybe some fantasy nerd will.”

He swallowed hard and rolled his shoulders.

“You okay, pancake?”

“I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Nodding, she shortcut them back to the house.

\---------

[Sir, the search party has returned.] Hofniel announced, pulling Metatron from his thoughts.

“Send them in, please.” Metatron ordered, standing from his desk.

Within moments, three figures appeared before him, as if coming up through the floor. They resembled their corporations, certainly, but it was clear from their transparent appearance what had happened.

“I take it you located him.” Metatron frowned.

“We did, sir.” Hashmal muttered. “But I was the only one he discorporated personally.”

“Explain.”

“There was a demon with him, sir.” Nanael piped in, the Principality clearly rattled. “I’m not sure which one, but she caught the unholy wire you gave us and used it on me!”

“A demon.” Metatron repeated smoothly. “What did their corporation look like?”

“Short. Female-presenting.” Hashmal informed him. “Dark hair. Eyes the color of jade. Feline claws and teeth.”

Metatron slowly sank down into his chair. “Xaslem…”

The three angels glanced at one another.

“I expect completed reports before you request new corporations. Dismissed.”

They nodded and filed out of his observatory. Metatron drummed manicured nails on the surface of his desk, mulling it over. Xaslem could hold her own. She had discorporated over a hundred angels at the Battle of Eden, from the arrow-count. Yet… why would she help the one whom cast her down? Unless ordered to. Unless Beelzebub made it so.

A ploy came to his mind. He could use this. All of it, glorious fodder for getting rid of the latest thorn in his side.

\---------

Michael’s gaze turned to the corner of her computer’s screen, an icon flashing to indicate she’d received a memo. It was tagged as a forward, and to her shock, she saw it was sent Heaven-wide, to every angel it could feasibly reach. She clicked on it, pulling the memo up in full.

{MEMORANDUM}  
{To: All Celestials}  
{From: Arch-Seraph Metatron}  
{CC: All Concerned Commanding Angels}  
{Date: July 18th, 2019 AD}  
{Subject: Archangel Gabriel}

{I regret to inform that Archangel Gabriel is hereby stripped of rank due to high treason, fraternization with demons, and the attack upon and discorporation of Dominion Hashmal, Principality Mebahaiah, and Principality Nanael. Gabriel is hereby is considered a danger to Heaven and all Celestials therein. If spotted afield, he is to be summarily executed. Caution is advised. He is known to associate with the demon, Xaslem, Egregore Virtue fallen to the Circle of Lust. Thank you for your understanding and cooperation in this matter. May the Lord have mercy on us all.}

{Arch-Seraph Metatron, Voice of the Almighty}

Michael felt sick. Her mind raced and she was dizzy. She re-read the memo over, and over, and over until the raw emotion boiled over like a volcano. She shouted, flipping her desk as she stood. It crashed to the floor, papers everywhere and the computer definitely dead. Pens and pencils spilled over tile from her favorite cup.

She stood in silence, clenching and unclenching her fists. Slowly, her gaze turned toward the locked display at the far wall of her office. Striding to it, she unlocked it and took down her sword. The same sword she’d sworn that she would someday use to clip Xaslem’s wings.

The blade rang softly when she held it, turning the double-edged longsword over in her hand before sheathing it, and belting it at her hip.

\---------

“You’re back rather soon, Sarfael.” Rosier mused as he sipped at a glass of bourbon.

“Just an update, sir. Uh… Three angels ambushed Xaslem and Gabriel in Regent’s Park.” He supplied, rubbing his elbow.

He said nothing, waiting for the demon to fill the silence.

“Gabriel discorporated a Dominion. Xaslem discorporated two Principalities. And… they had tried using unholy wire to snare Gabriel.”

This drew his attention. He gazed at his informant, arching a brow pointedly.

“Xaslem caught it before it unraveled. I don’t think they threw it right. And she kept it. Shoved it in a red ring-box.”

Humming, Rosier poured a second glass and held it out. It was like holding meat out for a timid animal that’d been beaten too many times. Eventually, though, Sarfael stepped forward and accepted it, cradling the glass in both his hands and sipping at the liquor.

“I’d like to offer a trade.” Rosier supplied, voice quiet.

This made him pause and look up warily. The look reminded him that Sarfael’s aspect was a skittish and wary creature. Trade was Hell-speak for favors exchanged immediately instead of on-loan.

“Do you think you can find out how those angels got a hold of unholy wire?”

Sarfael nodded. Finding that kind of information was easy. And he didn’t dare ask just why Rosier wanted to know, or what the demon of Greed would do with that knowledge.

“And what would you like in exchange?”

He was wary. Worried about asking for too much. But he also knew not to keep Rosier waiting. Not when he was in such a giving mood. “A tin of Beluga White caviar?”

Rosier smiled. Perhaps genuinely, but still sticky and wrong. “I’ll get you a whole case. Just get me the information.”

Sarfael nodded and downed the rest of the bourbon in his glass.

\---------

There were times, and instances, where Xaslem’s body reminded her of her Fall.

Today was one of those days. A day where she woke up to cramped hands, stiff digits, and burning scars. Their silver tone was more pronounced today, noticed as she cracked an eye and peered down at her arm.

She didn’t know what caused it. Crowley said his scars – while fewer in number than her own, in terms of physical scarring – did the same thing now and again. From what she gathered, most demons experienced days like this. And she wasn’t looking forward to it. Her bones ached, and there was a pronounced burning sensation in her wings where they rested tucked away in the ether.

Her gaze slid to the alarm clock. It was still early. Earlier than she’d like to get up. Five in the morning, and there was no way she’d be able to get back to sleep. She heaved a sigh as she slipped from under the covers and strode into the kitchen. Still tired, she had to flex her hands repeatedly, like kneading dough, trying to loosen them up and get them working again. Her knuckles cracked of their own accord. Her claws hurt.

As the Keurig heated up, she looked down at her hands, flexing them and trying to will the aching away. It was a strange sensation. A cold but hot ache, occasionally throbbing, making her muscles and joints feel creaky. Stiffness and dull discomfort like her hands were cramped up.

“Are you alright?”

Her gaze whipped toward him.

Gabriel stepped closer, but kept the island counter between them. After a moment, he reached for her hands. She tensed up all over, hands looking like a pair of angry spiders.

“Relax. I’m just offering an olive branch.” Gabriel told her.

Xaslem leered at him as his hands laid over hers. Of course, he was more than a foot taller than her. Compared to her hands, his looked rather big. They were warm. Soft from lack of confrontation, from spending millennia doing paperwork. Her own hands were almost frigid, very cold and unnaturally smooth like marble. There was a sensation under his palms, along her hands. A soothing warmth that washed over her scars.

“Since when do you believe in olive branches?” Xaslem muttered.

“Since getting along would be easier for both of us, right now.”

She grunted at that. He really didn’t like people being upset with him, did he. Especially now. Interesting.

“Feel any better?”

“Yeah, actually.” She flexed her fingers beneath his palms.

After a moment, he moved his hands, taking one of hers and examining her claws as one would with a normal housecat, gently squeezing her finger to watch the pale, white claw extend outwards. They couldn’t retract fully. Only halfway, leaving wicked points ever exposed. Xaslem allowed the examination, despite the flicker of annoyance that he wasn’t asking permission. She imagined he rarely got to see demons up close.

“I’m surprised you can’t hide them.” Gabriel suddenly said aloud.

“I can. In my pockets. But if you mean changing them… I can’t change them, or my eyes, no more than Crowley can change his. Granted, his claws are short and glossy enough that they only look like black nail polish. The perks of being a serpent, I guess.”

He dragged a thumb across the smattering of scars. They were slightly raised. To humans, they looked like paled flesh but mundane. Others, angels and demons, could see their true nature. Their color was metallic, almost like polished iron… much as angel scars looked like shimmering gold.

“What did this to—”

“Pass.” She said firmly.

Gabriel blinked at her and then nodded, remembering the rules she’d laid down on their first day in the house. As he readied to drag a finger beneath one claw to test its sharpness, she lifted her claw away.

He winced at the idea of getting nicked and drew his hands away. Xaslem watched him, wondering what’d suddenly gotten into him, what had crawled into his chest and died. She chose not to ask. Something about asking made her insides feel all squirmy and gross.

She turned away long enough to grab a mug from the cabinet, having to lean on tiptoes. Gabriel found himself observing the motion. How loose cotton draped her form and how her pajama bottoms hung just low enough for him to realize her underwear was either very low-cut… or absent. The soup mug was set in place, Xaslem withdrawing a small plastic cup from the shelf under the Keurig and setting it in place.

“Do you need something?” She questioned, pressing the largest setting button and leaning her elbows on the counter.

“No. I heard you get up, and wanted to see what you were doing.”

A hum left her, and she fixed her tea before looking up at him. “I’ll be on the couch if you do need anything.”

\---------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of unholy wire is borrowed from (https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerweasel/pseuds/killerweasel) after I read some of their stuff. And I might’ve improvised a touch.


	13. Rough Day

Something woke her up.

At first, Xaslem wasn’t sure what it was. It wasn’t her phone, as the “Hit the Road, Jack” ringtone was absent. It wasn’t Gabriel’s phone, because the obnoxious default ringtone was very distinct and very loud. Then, after a moment, she realized it wasn’t a sound at all. It was a sensation. A feeling.

A groan welled in her throat. She had worried about that. Demons whom grouped up got accustomed to one another’s auras enough to sense distress. Hell, Crowley and Aziraphale could sense one another’s general state of being even continents away. And apparently, in some cosmic level of irony, she was forming that vicarious attachment with her… roommate.

It was a sick, crawling sensation. Cold and prickly-numb like a limb falling asleep. Heaving a sigh, she stood, joints popping and muscles creaking as she stretched. From there, she got up and padded to Gabriel’s side of the house, and peeked into the office.

He looked exhausted. Staring down at a disarrayed stack of papers, flipping a pen between his fingers and occasionally pausing to click it. He didn’t even seem to notice her, which was odd considering he seemed to notice most things. Well… most things he deemed necessary to notice.

“Hey.”

He jumped slightly, the pen – which had been mid-click – flying out of his hand and off the desk to clatter on bamboo flooring. They stared at one another. Xaslem wasn’t sure what to say to him. She didn’t like the look on his face. A blank look, perhaps poker-faced, with a haunted glint in his gaze and his aura, eyes dark and almost colorless. She hated that.

She leaned against the doorframe. “Y’know, taking a nap wouldn’t kill ya.”

“I don’t have time to waste sleeping.” Gabriel huffed, leaning down to grab the pen before sitting back in his chair. “We don’t need sleep, anyways.”

She arched a brow, eyeing the new filing cabinet off to his side. “Busy bee, I take it.”

He nodded with a sarcastic look, like ‘that is what I literally just said.’

“Just wanted to see why you’ve been so quiet.” She stood and turned to leave.

“Wait.”

Xaslem paused before her mind could ask why. It wasn’t a command, or a plea. Just a request. And that threw her. She turned and faced him again.

“Does Hell have an archive?”

Cocking a brow, she stared at him. “Uh… Yeah. Why?”

Gabriel stood, moving toward her. His posture was slow. Stiff. Not intimidating, though. Not standoffish. “Is there anything there about Falling? About Metatron?”

“I’m not taking you down there.” Xaslem yowled, folding her arms. “You’ll get us both killed.”

“And I’m not ask you to take me there. I’m ask you to see if you can find anything.”

A pin could’ve dropped. They stood together in the doorway, his expression more sincere than she’d ever seen. “Do you know what kind of shit I could get into?”

“Yes. I’m aware.” Gabriel frowned, hands clasped in front of him. “Will I need to call favors?”

She hissed suddenly, the sound sharp and mean, as she turned and marched down the hallway.

He followed her. “Isn’t that what demons do?”

“If you’re asking me to repay you for this morning, fuck off!”

His hand caught her arm. She whirled, claws out, but he caught her other wrist and spun her so her back was to his front and her arms were crisscrossed over her chest. She snarled at him, but it was a token protest. If she really wanted out, she could do actual damage. The same could be said for him. He wasn’t harsh in his grip. Simply holding.

“I’m not asking for any kind of repayment, Xaslem.” Gabriel muttered, voice cool and firm. Determined. He released her. “I’m asking what it would take to convince you.”

Xaslem turned, staring up at him. “And if the price is too steep?”

“I’m certain we could negotiate.”

She wanted to yell at him. To snap. Remind him that she could end up discorporate or dead. No such words came. Instead, a question. “Why do you care so much?”

“What kind of question is that? We know that everything that happened was because of Metatron!”

“And what does that change? Not jack shit! And once Metatron finds a way to get the apocalypse up and running, it won’t matter!”

“Damn it all, would you just listen?!” His voice bordered just shy of yelling and he gestured in an ambiguous direction. “If I can figure out how Metatron controls Falling, how he gained control of Heaven, then maybe he could be stopped!”

“But why?!” She raised her voice to match, hands balling into fists. “You’re the one who wanted the world to fucking end! Why do you care about stopping him?! What difference does it make?!”

“Because I’m part of the reason this happened!”

A silence fell between them. She stared at him, brows furrowed and eyes wide, matching his shocked expression. Gabriel got a sickish feeling at his own admission and turned halfway away from her, pausing to spare her a glance before turning more fully and going back to his office, closing the door behind himself.

Her mind spun. She didn’t know what ‘this’ referred to. Metatron’s rise to power? Falling? Crowley? Aziraphale? Beelzebub? The Egregore? Or… her? She stood in the living room for the longest time. Was he looking for atonement, or something? Of all the stupid things to try and get?

Xaslem strode back to her room, closing the door and sitting on the edge of her bed. She chewed the corner of her lip, bouncing a knee and cracking her knuckles. Toyed with her fidget cube for a while before shoving it back in her pocket. They were civil with one another, sure… but helping him? That was different. That went past plausible deniability of her job.

But she couldn’t help but wonder… What if he was right? If Metatron was stopped, could things change? Would there even be an apocalypse? Could demons continue living and minding their own business? Could there be a truce?

Hope, in her experience, was a dangerous thing. It was addictive, and like any drug, the crash hurt rather badly. She knew better than to hope for things… But after sitting in silence for nearly an hour, Xaslem couldn’t contain the urge. She got dressed, and allowed herself to sink downwards, directly into Hell.

When she opened her eyes, she was in the City of Dis. What could be considered the throbbing heart of Hell. Living spaces were crammed together like the main atrium of a far-too-large department store, with bridges and escalators and even a few dumbwaiters. The ground floor was a food court and stank of overly-rich sauces, fatty meats, tons of sugar, and heavy spices. Heresy only in terms of botching existing recipes to the enth degree. The stench was mingled with the odor of smoke from the boiler system that kept the city toasty, some pipes even belching flame in loose spots. Elevator music was playing.

In that instant, she remembered why she hated this place.

Keen eyes scanned the food court. No sign of Dagon. Xaslem tried to calm her mind. Taking small, measured breaths. She didn’t smell Dagon anywhere. Probably at her office… Probably. If she wasn’t, Xaslem didn’t know how she’d get the keys.

She’d always had sticky fingers. Most things, she only borrowed, and tried to return before it was missed. Other things, she only took from people she decided didn’t deserve to have whatever it was she wanted, and that usually only applied to small things – foodstuffs, comic books, a bottle of wine… She’d never stolen anything major. Certainly, never Lord Dagon’s keys. The only keys that could ever get the archives open.

The notion made her mouth dry and her throat tight. But she was already committed, her feet carrying her toward Dagon’s office, which sat just up the hall from Beelzebub’s, and at the end of the hall was a passageway down from Dis to the lower circles. Okay… play cool…

She snapped her fingers as she strode casually through the hall. The door of Dagon’s office swung open. Xaslem heard the echo of shuffling papers grinding to a halt, followed by a chair squeaking as someone stood, and footsteps of Victorian heels clicking on grimy tile.

Dagon glanced about the hallway and frowned. There was no one, save for a familiar Lust demon who went striding past her, brushing by with a familiarity and casual air in the narrow, clammy hallway.

“Xaslem?” Dagon turned to face the shorter demon. “Did you just open my office?”

The feline paused, turning about on her heel in a fluid motion. “Huh?”

“My office. Did you open it?”

“No.”

Dagon narrowed her eyes at her. “Where are you headed? I don’t believe Lord Beelzebub summoned you.”

“She didn’t. I’m on my way downstairs on an errand.”

“Oh?” She stepped closer, hands clasped behind her back. “What kind of errand?”

“A favor.”

At this, Dagon calmed and drew back. She didn’t expect any demon to discuss favors. Some were personal in nature, and even Xaslem and Crowley weren’t above exchanging them. If she was here on a favor, it was her business.

“Dismissed, then.”

The shorter demon shrugged, turning and heading for the stairs that led downwards. She heard Dagon return to her office, and Xaslem struggled to keep her slow, casual pace despite her fear of getting caught. The keys were freezing against her palm, painfully cold even in her jacket pocket, pressed against her glove. Her corporation’s heart was racing.

She only went one floor lower. Still in Dis. Making her way down this slightly wider, less damp hallway, she paused long enough to a boiler pipe to spew flame for a few seconds before she was able to cross. The archives were kept behind circular doors with iron bars and had no less than nine locks running the seam of them, down the middle. Here, she steeled herself, Holding the keys firmly to keep them from jangling. One by one, she got the locks open, and pushed the doors closed behind herself.

Never had she seen the archives. No demon below the rank of Duke had – though Hastur was banned because the greasy touch of his hands had ruined some files that took weeks to replace. A great, tall chamber with shelves running floor to ceiling, sliding ladders here and there, with multiple railed walkways and spiral staircases, all dimly lit with glowing crystal sconces that kept a dim, cool blue. The air was dry, and there was enough dust that she could taste it on the air. The biblichor here wasn’t pleasant like in Aziraphale’s place, no. More musty and moldy. More wrong.

Xaslem didn’t know where to start. They weren’t alphabetical or numerical, not organized by age or genre or language… Absolute chaos. She both admired and despised it.

Her footfalls were silent as she started walking, making her way down one aisle, mist along the floor swirling about her ankles. She didn’t recognize very many of the languages, and only a few of the books who were actually facing spine-out had proper titles written.

There was a bang behind her, and she jumped. Bodily, into the air, turning and landing on her feet. Had there been anyone around, she would’ve been embarrassed, but as it was, her focus was on the book now lying on the floor. Its cover was black. Hardback, leatherbound, with gold embossment. It looked rather aged, but in decent condition. Cared for manually, since she felt no miracles on it.

Striding back to it, she picked it up and turned it over. Latin. She knew it when she saw it, but she didn’t know how to read it. She eyed the shelf. There was no sign of where it came from. No gaps, or anything. Like it had fallen from the damn ceiling. Maybe Gabriel or Aziraphale would know what it was, and with this in mind, she snapped her fingers, porting the book back to the house.

\---------

A thump drew Gabriel from his pacing. Xaslem was, to his knowledge, still in her room. Why a book had suddenly appeared on the coffee table was beyond him, but there it was.

Setting the papers in his hand aside, he strode over and sank down to sit on the couch. He waved a hand over the book. There weren’t any curses on it, nor blessings. Just a mundane book. Again, odd, because it would have the traces of a blessing if it had come from Aziraphale’s bookshop.

He opened the book slowly, and his brows furrowed. “What in Heaven?”

Gabriel closed the book and made his way to Xaslem’s side of the house. It smelt of her – somewhere between honeysuckles and citrus. Her office door was open, the room vacant save for large plastic bins in a doorless closet. But her bedroom door was closed, and he heard nothing inside.

“Xaslem?” He knocked on the door, and waited.

No answer. After a moment, he knocked again, and when he received no reply, not even snark, he quietly reached out with his aura. She wasn’t even there, and opening her bedroom door revealed there was indeed no one within. Only a plain dresser with a collection of various alcohol glasses on top, a bottle of black and white sand swirled together, and the red box that held the wad of unholy wire.

Her bed was quite large, headboard but no footboard, with a cushioned chest at the foot of the bed. The covers were mismatched, consisting of a worn old quilt, a woven cotton blanket, and a thin but very soft looking tasseled blanket. Cotton sheets of white and grey leopard print, a pink and white striped pillowcase with rose designs on the hems… He noticed there was only one pillow, and he saw claw marks on the headboard. Some new, some old. He wondered if that was a product of her nightmares.

Regardless, she was nowhere to be seen. Gabriel pulled the door closed and returned to the living room. For all he knew, she had found the book and wanted to read it, later.

\---------

Xaslem searched for what felt like hours, though she doubted it was really that long. She was just about to give up when she heard footsteps coming toward her. And they weren’t from Dagon.

“Well, aren’t you gonna be in trouble, poppet.” A rough, vaguely Cockney voice snickered.

“Hello, Hakael…” Xaslem groaned, slowly turning to face him. “Won’t you get in trouble, too?”

“No, no, not at all. We ARE stopping you from snooping where you shouldn’t, after all. We saw you break in and steal that book. I think Dagon’ll be right pleased with us.”

Before she could ask or sass, two more sets of footfalls came up, one at her nine, and the other at her five. Xaslem didn’t bother to look who they were.

Hakael was grinning. He was once a Virtue, since Fallen to the circle of Heresy. He was a sleazy figure, six-foot-four, sallow-skinned with sunken cheeks and bag-ridden eyes. His hair was shoulder-length, appearing to be greying and streaked with silver, while his short goatee looked like iron. A heavy wrap-around coat of white reached his knees, below which grey-pinstriped black slacks and polished black shark-leather shoes could be seen. When one looked at him, ‘Rasputin’ came to mind, even for Xaslem.

Hakael growled, the sound pitchy like his demonic aspect – a badger. “You’re Gabriel’s bodyguard. Rumor has it that you requested the detail.”

“You’re an idiot, as usual.” Xaslem informed him, sneering. “Beelzebub assigned me because I was already topside, and a former Egregore.”

“Because Beelzebub would believe that load of rubbish he touted off? Angels can’t rip out fellow angels’ Grace. She abandoned us. Gabriel just can’t accept it might happen to him.”

She grit her teeth. She knew Gabriel was afraid, but she also knew he’d acknowledged he could and just might fall. But Hakael didn’t need to know that.

“What are you up to?” Hakael stood looming over her.

Xaslem held her ground, glaring up at him. She and Hakael had never seen eye-to-eye, even when they worked together in Heaven with the other Virtues, before she’d become an Egregore. That standoffishness had persisted in their time as demons.

“Answer me, you little bitch!” He lunged, hamfisted mits grabbing her jacket and shoving her against the closest bookshelf. “What are you and your Celestial boyfriend planning?”

“We’re not planning anything, assbag. I came in here because I was curious.”

And then the three lashed out.

\---------

Dagon didn’t anger quickly. Most days, she was calm and cool-headed. Her paperwork was her therapy, and she got more than enough of it.

When she noticed her keys were missing, she remembered Xaslem brushing past her, and let out an annoyed sigh. Annoyed was the extent of her feelings. She knew Xaslem’s reading ability was limited and the Lust demon wouldn’t be able to read some 90% of the books in the archives. She was also familiar with Xaslem’s inquisitive nature and independent mean. It was bound to happen, and honestly, Dagon was almost impressed. No one had ever had the balls to swipe the keys right off her belt.

When she arrived at the archives, annoyance shifted to rage. There were two piles of fading ash where two demons had been discorporated. Hakael and Xaslem were embroiled in a fight. Both equally roughed up, with blood splattering parts of the floor and shelves. Snarling, Dagon marched over and grabbed them both by their hair, pulling them apart like disobedient pets.

“What in Satan’s unholy name is the meaning of this?!” Three rows of jagged teeth glinted as Dagon snarled at them.

“She was pokin around the archives, Lord Dagon!” Hakael panted, one eye squinted shut from the deep claw-marks marring the side of his face. “Me, Rimmon, and Gurson came here to stop her!”

“I was looking around and you dumbasses accused me to treason!” Xaslem hissed, grimacing. “I was defending myself!”

With a hum, Dagon mulled it over before snapping Hakael’s neck, discorporating him instantly. Then, grabbing the back of Xaslem’s jacket, she hauled the Lust demon back up one floor and into Beelzebub’s office. She was shoved, landing sprawled on the floor in front of the desk, Beelzebub seated upon her throne with a puffin-feather quill in hand.

Beelzebub set the quill aside and slowly drummed her nails on the desk. “Explain yourself.”

Xaslem swallowed hard, resisting the urge to spit blood out – because that would NOT help right now. “Gabriel’s trying to sort out how to expose and stop Metatron. He asked if I could check the archives.”

“You mentioned a favor.” Dagon reminded her.

She sat up on her knees. “He…”

“He what? What, pray tell, could an angel do to warrant a favor from a demon?”

“Dagon.” Beelzebub shot her mate a warning look.

Dagon fell quiet.

After a moment, Xaslem relented, eyes on the floor. “My scars were hurting this morning. He noticed and… he made the ache go away.”

Silence. Complete, and utter silence. Xaslem closed her eyes, shame rolling in her stomach. Beelzebub regarded the Lust demon for a long moment and shared a look with their mate. It was a silent conversation.

“See that he understandzz the value of demonic favors.” Beelzebub warned. “Get up.”

Xaslem stood, wincing at the ache in her corporation from the fight. Dagon held her hand out. Without verbal prompting, Xaslem handed the keys back to her. The Lord of Files regarded her coolly, a firm look in her gaze.

“From now on, you ASK to see the archives. If you make another mess, I’ll have you neck-deep in paperwork for the next century.” Dagon warned, leering. “Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“Dismissed.” Beelzebub said.

Xaslem snapped her fingers, and in a plume of mist and sooty smoke, was gone.

“Never thought Gabriel’d have it in him.”

Dagon scoffed, stepping around the desk to sit on the edge of it, long legs crossed. “Who said he did? You heard her. A favor.”

Beelzebub hummed at this. “Maybe. But something about how she put it…”

After a moment, she turned and laid back across the desk in her typical ‘I am on break so pay attention to me’ fashion. Beelzebub arched a brow, rolled hereyes, and tucked a stray lock of Dagon’s hair behind her ear.

\---------

Gabriel knew Xaslem was back when he heard the freezer door slam, followed by ice hitting a glass and the pop of a wine bottle being opened. He had never seen her drink before.

Sure enough, when he went to the kitchen, she had a couple ice cubes in a whiskey glass, and had filled said glass about halfway with cherry Moscato. What surprised him was the state of her. Her clothes were in noticeable unintentional ruin, stained with blood here and there. There were scratches on her face and neck, some bleeding and some not. Her claws were bloody, and purple bruises were starting to emerge on creamy flesh.

“What happened?” Gabriel questioned, striding closer.

“Ran into an old coworker.” She rested the cool glass against her brow, eyes glassy as she stared down at the counter. “Did you get the book?”

“Yes, I did.” He sounded impatient. “Here. I’ll heal you.”

“You don’t have to—”

But he had already moved into her personal space, coaxing her to set the glass down. Feeling him passing his fingers over the wounds left a lingering, soothing warmth like a balm, and any protests she had at the ready died in her throat. Xaslem felt her eyes fall half-lidded. The cuts and bruises faded away as if they were never there to begin with. A sigh left her and, whether she liked it or not, she pressed her face a bit closer into his hands, one of which now supported her chin and the other pushed her bangs aside.

“You shouldn’t have gone down there.” Gabriel sighed, voice low and quiet. “In fact, you said you wouldn’t.”

“Changed my mind.” She muttered, almost confused by his concern. “I’m used to it. Most other demons have hated me since I saved you before I Fell.”

He froze, brows furrowing sharply and amethyst eyes looking confused, searching her expression.

“I know you remember. When I tossed you over the wall.” Her voice was tired, perhaps wary, but curious. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’d always thought you had thrown me into the garden to demoralize the others. I didn’t… You SAVED me?”

“Didn’t mean to, at the time. But Azazel had just Fallen, and grief was immediate. Even though it was you, and Heaven was destroying us, it was a gut reaction.”

Gabriel stared at her. Falling into the dunes of stardust around Purgatory’s mountain was a straight ticket downwards, sure. But he’d never considered… never thought…

“Thanks for the healing.” She pulled away from him, picking up her glass and retreating to her bedroom.

\---------

Sarfael slunk his way into Rosier’s den, glancing about. When the Dominion suddenly appeared before him, and he nearly ran into him, Sarfael stumbled back with a yelp.

“Well?” Rosier’s hands were clasped behind him, and he loomed over the Fallen Principality.

“I-I found out how Heaven got the unholy wire.” Sarfael licked his lips. “It was Michael. Apparently, Hastur owed her a favor. Something about avenging Ligur… He gave her the spool of wire.”

A sacharrine smile appeared on his face, and from behind his back, he handed the shorter demon a tin of very expensive caviar. Just as he requested. Sarfael cooed softly, and hesitated until Rosier nodded. He was permitted to eat it, right here in the parlor. He opened the tin and licked his lips before miracleing a mother-of-pearl spoon and scooping some into his mouth. He hummed at the flavor, rolling the beads against his mouth and popping them. It took everything he had not to drool, though he did savor the mouthful.

He swallowed hard. “There’s something else, too, sir.” 

Rosier arched a brow.

“Xaslem was caught sneaking into the archives. Stole the keys. Dunno how. But Hakael told me and Barbatos about it. He thinks she’s pullin favors with the Archangel.”

His brows furrowed upwards sharply. A snap of his fingers produced another tin of caviar, which was shoved into the shorter’s hands. “Very good, Sarfael… Very good. Go tell Hakael need to speak with him, and you can take the rest of the day.”

\---------


	14. To Do

When she felt someone cross into her home, Xaslem knew who it was and didn’t bat an eye. Gabriel was likely back from wherever he’d gone. His aura was more familiar by now, almost painfully so despite how she pushed it away. Instead, she focused on her self-appointed task, slotting more of the tiny blocks into place.

“Xaslem? … Xaslem!”

“Back here!” She called, rolling her eyes.

Footfalls came her way, and Gabriel paused in the open doorway. His brows furrowed when he saw she was sitting on the floor, surrounded by bins of plastic pieces, with a large amalgam of plastic pieces in front of her. The whole room was littered with little castles, palaces, and even a couple small villages, all on flat pieces that could easily be slid across the bamboo flooring.

“What are you doing?” Gabriel questioned.

“Building something. Obviously.” She grabbed a couple slanted pieces for the battlements. “What do you want?”

“I came to check on you.”

Xaslem gave him a flat look.

“What are you building?”

“A scale model of Barad-Dur from Lord of the Rings. Third attempt. Last two were too tall.”

“This is what you do all day? Just… build things?”

“Not ALL day. But a couple hours. It helps me relax. I like building things. Learning how things work.”

The jab was subtle, but he said nothing of it, merely giving a quiet sigh through his nose. It was deserved, after all. After a moment, she slid the arena-like foundation aside and turned, leaning to the box of flat, square foundation pieces. 

She set it neatly on the floor in front of herself and pointed. “C’mere. Sit.”

After some hesitation, Gabriel strode closer, across from her, a guilty look on his face like someone stepping out for a cigarette. A snap of his fingers had him out of his usual clothes, changed into his shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He sat down, legs crisscrossed like hers. Xaslem dragged a bin closer on either side and slid them so they could both reach. One bin was darker grey, the other lighter grey. After, she grabbed a bin of slanted pieces and likewise plunked that down within reach.

“How do you decide what to build?”

She shrugged, grabbing a couple darker pieces. “Sometimes, I pick something from movies, like Barad-Dur. Or I pick something from a book. What I think it looks like. Other times, I just… do whatever.”

Gabriel watched her set a couple pieces down, clicking them into place. He also noted she stuck to only her side of the board. After a long moment, he reached for the bin of lighter pieces and began building on his side, mirroring her motions as best he could.

“Seems like an odd pastime.” He mused, somewhat absently.

“Crowley suggested it not long after Legos were invented. Said it could help me keep my anxiety levels more baseline. And it works. Helps me not think about… things. As does the fidget cube he got for me.”

The archangel opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated and closed his mouth again.

“I’ll say ‘pass’ if you have a question I don’t feel like answering. Remember?”

“What did you use before these were invented?”

She shrugged. “Popsicle sticks, toothpicks, dominoes, Jenga blocks, dice… Things that could go missing without anyone noticing or caring. I tried jigsaw puzzles, and I tried Rubik cubes. Neither were very… good. I like Legos, best. Magnetix, second-best. Tried Kinex, but didn’t care for them. And the Bionicle figurines, while fun, just… It’s something you can only put together once. Legos can be anything.”

“That explain why you have so many bins of them, I suppose.”

“I kept running out.” Xaslem muttered.

He paused for a long moment. “What makes a demon anxious?”

“Lotsa things.”

Gabriel noticed how she hadn’t said the word and prodded a bit. “Such as?”

“Falling taught us a few things about trust. We’re either alone, with one other person, or a very small group. Packs, or cliques. And we can get into fights. Lots of people attack each other before they figure out Beelzebub doesn’t give a fuck. Most days, she views the arguments as a waste of time and resources.”

“Yes, that sounds like her.”

“Then, we have to worry about you people. We can be out minding our own business and get dive-bombed or ambushed for no reason. I remember I was walking to a movie store. I got discorporated because I was dragged into an alley and stabbed… 30 times, give or take? By an angel I don’t even remember the name of.”

Gabriel stared at her, his expression unreadable.

“Neither of those issues really bother me. I’m a demon now. Can’t change it. And considering the alternatives, I’d rather stay a demon than be an angel. Other problems I run into are more personal.”

“For example?” There was a defensive—no, protective edge to his voice.

Xaslem met his gaze. “I’m a demon of Lust, pancake. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

He could. Easily. He didn’t want to, but he could easily imagine her being attacked. Being… Gabriel swallowed hard, clenching his jaw, gaze falling. After a moment, her own gaze fell, and the steady tak… tak… tak… of pieces being placed resumed. After a moment, he spoke up.

“Do you trust me?”

“No.”

Gabriel felt a twinge of disappointment.

“Maybe someday. Maybe.” Xaslem muttered, pausing to examine the work on her side’s left corner. “But not yet, pancake.”

“Why do you call me that? What does that mean?”

“Pancakes are expected. They’re boring. Flat. Tasteless. But everyone eats them anyways.”

Gabriel frowned, staring at her.

“But they can be improved. The recipe can be changed. … Kinda like people, I guess.”

Then, a slight smile tugged at his mouth.

“So, is this gonna be a tower or a house? Cause I’m gonna keep going up.”

“Maybe we could do a tower?”

She nodded, grabbing more pieces. “Did the book help at all?”

“The book?”

“The one I sent over from the archives.”

“Xaslem, it was a Latin edition of the Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri.”

“Oh.” She pouted, and then shrugged. “My bad.”

“The title was right on the cover. How did you not see it?”

“I saw it.” Her cheeks darkened a fraction. “I just couldn’t read it.”

Gabriel stared at her for a long moment. “You can’t read?”

“Of course I can read! I just… didn’t learn to read until middle-English was invented. I’ve been an errand runner so long I never had a reason to. No paperwork. The only reason I did, then, was because I saw a pamphlet for one of Shakespeare’s plays and wanted to see what it said.”

“Shakespeare… Isn’t that the playwright who made that bargain with Crowley?” He continued working on his side of the new project.

“The same.”

“I’ve never understood human proclivity to make bargains like that.”

“Because Heaven is strictly hands-off and ignores their prayers.” Xaslem shrugged, voice still casual. “Some people get tired of being ignored.”

He considered that. It was true. Only a very small percentage of prayers were answered anymore. More resources had been diverted to the future, now null, war-effort. The age of miracles was largely over. While most angels blamed humans, citing their many religions and beliefs, the fact was simply that Heaven viewed such miracles and wish-fulfillment as a pointless endeavor.

“Were any of his plays enjoyable?” Gabriel asked.

“I liked a few, for a while. But the only one I still care for is A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream. The only one that isn’t miserable. And I HATE Romeo and Juliet. Worst play ever written. Hands-down.”

There came a pause between them.

“I’m, ah… thinking about going to the store, tomorrow. You can come along, if you want. I wouldn’t mind. People-watching and all that can be… insightful.”

He merely nodded, not quite trusting his voice at the moment. He wanted some time away from his work – just an hour or two – and if she was offering his own olive branch, he’d accept that.

\---------

Xaslem chose an hour when fewer people were there. After a brief glance at herself in the mirror, she strode out to the living room and saw Gabriel was there waiting for her. She fished a pair of white tablets out of her pocket.

“Here.” She held them out to him.

“What is this?” Gabriel questioned, giving the objects a puzzled look.

“Tylenol. It’s a medicine used to stop headaches, among other things. Just to keep the edge off any odd sounds or smells.”

“You expect it to be a problem?”

“Well, before all this, you spent most of your time in Heaven. And I noticed when you’re in the park, you avoid times when the nearby restaurants are busy.”

He frowned.

“It’s alright. I imagine being used to faint smells like ozone and air can make anyone a little peaky when they smell something like fast food. The first time I smelled flowers after my Fall, I threw up.” She shrugged, unashamed. “Grab a glass of water, take the pills, and we’ll head out.”

Gabriel glanced between her, the pills, and back to her. “I’m more surprised you think a mundane ‘medicine’ could affect an ethereal being.”

“Can’t hurt.” She shrugged, and then offered a small smile. “C’mon. Lemme see some of that confidence you’re famous for.”

He couldn’t even muster a smirk, giving her a wry look before doing as she asked. Xaslem, in that moment, was glad angels and demons didn’t have much gag reflex. The glass was set aside, and he went to her.

“Alright. Let’s go.” She linked arms with him and led him to the front door.

“Why do you always hold my arm when we do this?”

“To make sure you don’t get lost.” Xaslem snapped her fingers. There was a ripple of a miracle, reality folding just so.

“You’ve LOST someone doing this, before?!”

She pulled the door open, revealing an alleyway rather than a carport. “Once. Dagon had to go somewhere, and I offered to shortcut her. She ended up on the moon.”

His arm tightened on hers, fractionally, as the door closed and locked behind them before disappearing.

“That was thousands of years ago, though. I’ve had a lot more practice.”

They emerged from the alley, unnoticed by passing humans until she dropped the glamour. No one took notice of the two people who had seemingly come out of nowhere.

“Come on. This way.” Xaslem snickered, still holding his arm.

He was already tense.

“You okay?”

“It’s just… automobiles.” Gabriel muttered, forcing himself to relax and rolling his shoulders briefly.

“Smell, or sound?”

“Both. I’m usually either indoors or away from them.”

Xaslem rubbed his arm through his jacket sleeve. “I don’t care for them, either. Can’t say why. Just don’t. S’why I never learned how to drive.”

The pair made their way down the street. They were in Soho. Gabriel could tell by the architecture, which was more like what was close to the Bookshop that what surrounded Regent’s Park. Xaslem led him to her favorite store, which was called “The Niche Corner.”

It was a market run by a fastidious and persnickety young woman Xaslem had met personally and was acquainted with – but didn’t know well. The store had products from numerous countries, and catered to tastes of many sorts, including Kosher and Halal standards, people with special diets, and people whom wanted good food instead of knockoff fresh-market BS. Prices were fair rather than pretentious, and it was so well-stocked with teas and coffees that Xaslem could make her own blends. There were other goodies, of course. That Italian soda she liked, and pastries. But today was more about people-watching than anything else.

Xaslem grabbed a small cart and led the way. To onlookers, she may have seemed picky. But, being an ethereal creature – Occult, to be technical, while Gabriel was Celestial – she could afford to be and follow her cravings as she pleased. Whatever she was in the mood for. And she was in the mood for blood-oranges.

“Why are they called that?” Gabriel questioned, voice quiet.

She picked one up, rolling it in her hands to work up some citrus oil. “Because the fruit is so dark red that it almost looks like blood. These feel really nice, too. Nice and fresh.”

“It smells like whatever perfume you wear. Not as sweet, though.”

She chuckled, a very faint blush crossing her cheeks. “Blood oranges are also a bit bitter, but from what teas you like, I think you might like these.”

“I don’t think…” He trailed off, remembering they were in public and not glamored in any fashion.

“I know, I know. But I like eating them, so…” She placed a couple in the shopping cart and moved on.

Xaslem picked out a small carton of blackberries, and some young ginger. Some homemade ginger tea sounded wonderful. Endive, gold potatoes, some heirloom tomatoes, and spinach. When they passed produce and made it to the seafood and meat counters, she saw her companion’s expression shift just slightly. He was nauseated.

“How does anyone eat this?” He muttered under his breath, quiet enough that only the demon heard him.

“It’s easier not to think about it, pancake.” Xaslem sighed, frowning. “As for me… I try to stick to humanely raised and harvested meats. No young or factory animals. I try to respect the sacrifice.”

“That’s more than most, I suppose.”

“Better than nothing. Too many dishes I like have meat and can’t be substituted. Taste or texture.” She leaned over and whispered to him. “Remind me to tell you about vegetarian food, later.”

Gabriel made a mental note. To his relief, she passed this section by. He could only presume the freezer was well-stocked, or she – just maybe – didn’t want him to be as miserable as seeing the meat counter made him feel. Next was the bakery and pastry counter. She inspected the bread, picking out a stack of naan and a couple baguettes. Up at the counter, he saw her expression change, lighting up with some distant delight or mischief.

“Can I help you, miss?” The employee behind the counter smiled.

“I’d like a dozen macarons, please. Four coffee, four green tea, four earl grey.” Xaslem said, still gazing at the offerings behind the glass.

The woman nodded, delicately boxing up the little cookies.

“And… two slices of sachertorte.”

Those were likewise boxed up, and set neatly down in the cart. “Anything else, miss?”

“Are those calissons d'aix?”

She nodded.

“A tin of those, please.”

Boxed up, and placed in the cart. Xaslem thanked the woman and the pair walked off. Xaslem only grabbed a couple more things. A case of Paoletti Aranciata, that orange soda she loved so much and couldn’t find anywhere else. After, she checked the tea section, scanning the shelves for anything that struck her fancy, or anything she thought would strike his. Nothing stood out, though she grabbed a box of lady grey tea. Then, to checkout.

Xaslem paid in cash, telling the young man behind the register to keep the change. After that, it was just a short walk home. A snap of her fingers had everything put away, except for the macarons and the calissons, which sat neatly on the counter. She couldn’t help but hum softly as she picked up one of the earl grey macarons.

“What are those?” Gabriel gazed down at the confections, expression wary like someone seeing a questionable salad bar.

“French macarons.” She supplied with a shrug. “Most are fruit-flavored, but I like the tea flavored ones. And they’re not as sweet as American cookies.”

He watched her take a small, delicate bite of the blue-grey cookie in her hand.

“Would you like to try one?”

“I’m not certain it’s a good idea.” Gabriel paused briefly. “Not yet, anyway.”

“That’s fine. If you want to experience stuff, it should be at your own pace.”

Another pause as he looked the confections over. “What do they taste like?”

“Keep in mind you haven’t tasted much.” She pointed to the flavors she’d picked. “Earl grey tea, which is just slightly bitter. Green tea, which we know by now that you like. And coffee. I’d… suggest avoiding those until you’ve tried actual coffee.”

He grit his teeth and looked at her.

“You’re welcome to anything in this kitchen, pancake. We’re… roommates, after all, aren’t we?”

Sighing, Gabriel warred internally a bit more, and remembered what she said about overindulging. One bite, surely… just to know… wouldn’t do any harm. He chanted this in his head several times before reaching out and picking up one of the green cookies. Xaslem paid him no mind, finishing her own and opening the tin of calissons while he had his first bite. When she looked up, he had finished said bite and a tangle of emotions and microexpressions flitted across his face.

“How is it?” She questioned, cracking a delicate candy in half between her fingers.

“It’s not… bad, but it’s very…” Gabriel trailed off, searching for the word.

“Sweet. That’s the word you’re looking for. Cookies and confections are usually sweet.” She ate one half of the calisson in her hand.

“I suppose. How many flavors are there?”

“In general? Like, for food as a whole?”

He nodded, finishing the macaron quietly and sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Most agree food has seven taste qualities, or flavors.” She ate the second half of her candy. “Sweet, sour, salty, bitter, astringent, pungent, and umami. And there are dozens of combinations. Then you have smell, texture, and presentation… A lot goes into making something palatable.”

Gabriel hummed at this.

“Again, your pace. I don’t expect you to dive right in.” Xaslem shrugged, rocking on her heels. “So, how was the store?”

“It took my mind of things.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Her mouth curved into a tentative smile as she rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m going to go work on my build, if you need anything.”

He merely nodded, watching her walk off to her ‘office.’

\---------


	15. Disowned

He was getting nowhere. Gabriel knew he had now exhausted all the information at his current disposal.

Part of him considered calling Beelzebub and asking for whatever useful info the archives held, but thought better of it. He couldn’t put them in that kind of situation. Nor would he ask Xaslem, considering she’d come back bruised and battered last time.

There were few places to turn. Human libraries wouldn’t have the kind of information he needed, and would be filled with any given number of inaccuracies. Setting foot in the Vatican to get at whatever archives they had was also out of the question. A Throne was kept posted there at all times and would sense his presence.

Flustered, he stood from his desk and made his way out to the living room. After glancing around, he spied Xaslem in the reading nook. She was curled against a stack of pillows including a very plush faux-fur cushion. Legs crossed, one propped on the knee of the other. Usual clothing, minus her boots, allowing him to see her mismatched socks, one striped and the other dotted. The book she held looked small, even in her hands. Paperback, black and white with ‘Jurassic Park’ written in bright red letters.

“Need something?” Xaslem looked up at him, tilting her head.

Gabriel hesitated, still gazing at her. This was the first time he’d seen her with her hair down, those raven waves pooled on and cascading back over her shoulders.

“Restless?”

“Work has been slow. Slower than I’d like to admit.” He told her, clasping his hands in front of him. “Is there anything worth doing? Things people go out and pass the time with?”

“Sure. Lots of things. Seeing a movie at a theater, going shopping at the mall, feeding birds in the park, visiting a café, visiting museums or zoos… I like going to trampoline parks, but I doubt you’d be interested.”

“What in Heaven is a trampoline?”

She snorted, chuckling with a little grin as she marked her place in her book with a red ribbon. The book was set aside with apparent care, though not as obsessive as Aziraphale – Gabriel saw the books in the reading nook were shelved away in no particular order, or perhaps in an order only she could comprehend.

“Okay. How about something tame? Café, and the park?” Xaslem suggested and she stood. “You don’t have to go jogging to get your mind off things.”

“That sounds good.” Gabriel agreed, watching her pull a hair-tie from her pocket. Necessary, he supposed. Her hair reached her lower back, after all – he hadn’t thought it was that long.

Wordlessly, not caring as he watched her, Xaslem went to where her boots sat in the hall tree’s cubby, pulling them on. After, she pulled her hair up into her usual half-bun-half-ponytail.

“How do you do that, with your hair?” He strode over, grabbing his jacket and sliding it on.

“Practice.” She shrugged, patting her pockets down and realizing she was missing her phone. “I first learned to do it from Heracules. He used to do this with his hair. Said it made it easier to manage.”

“You knew Heracules?” A note of curiosity crept into Gabriel’s voice as they linked arms.

“Yeah. I was taking a vacay in Greece because Beelzebub wanted to try nightshade honey.” She snapped her fingers, and they stepped outside into an alleyway somewhere in the city. “Forewarning, it’s lethal, and eating it would discorporate you slowly and uncomfortably.”

“Noted.” Gabriel winced. “She didn’t care?”

“Beelzebub is always willing to taste new food, even if it’s poisonous. You should’ve seen her when the Japanese came up with fugu. Granted, my stay in Osaka was wonderful.”

He said nothing at this. He had rarely been on the Earth anywhere besides Europe, the Middle East, and northern Africa. Even then, his stays had been very brief. Not enough time to experience things. No reason to. Unable to articulate a proper comment, he kept quiet as they emerged onto a sidewalk.

“My favorite café’s over this way.” Xaslem explained, leading the way.

“You seem rather excited.” Gabriel muttered.

A faint blush crept over her cheeks. “Just restless? I’m high-energy.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed.”

She cast a mild deadpan look up at him, and he smiled a bit at her reaction. Xaslem was aware her excuse was a poor one. Much like her demonic aspect, she liked lounging around, basking in the sun with a full belly. Such was any feline’s prerogative. He had rarely if ever seen her in a more manic state.

The café was on a corner lot by a busy intersection, wedged between a grocery store and a bus stop. Xaslem led him inside and they stepped out of the way, drawing a light curtain of glamor between them so they could talk freely.

“There isn’t a queue.” Gabriel said, voice quiet.

“No, but cafés are busy and it’s more polite to wait off to the side until you know what you want.” Xaslem explained, eyeing the menu. “People who stand in line and don’t decide until they get to the counter are NOT liked in places like this.”

“That’s understandable, I suppose.”

“I feel like coffee, today.” She decided aloud and pointed. “They have iced white and green tea. You said you liked it better cold, right?”

“I prefer it.”

“Want me to order for both of us?”

“A demonstration would be helpful, yes.” Gabriel cleared his throat softly.

Nodding, Xaslem strode up to the counter. “I’ll have a large iced latte, two pumps sugar… and a large iced green tea, two pumps sugar.”

The teenager behind the counter nodded, ringing up her order and accepting pay. Xaslem proceeded to shove a wad of cash into the tip jar before returning to Gabriel’s side.

“You’ll like it. The tea’s good and I can never figure out how to make my own like theirs.”

“In fairness, your tea is rather nice.” Gabriel told her.

Within a few minutes, their order was ready, and they stepped back out onto the sidewalk, out of the foot traffic. It was a calm sort of feeling, as ironic as it was. Angel and demon, standing together outside a café, having a drink as normal humans would. Some part of Xaslem felt it was almost surreal.

“So… how is it?” Xaslem looked up at him.

“It’s good.” Gabriel sighed quietly, as if uncertain what else to say.

“Do you want to try coffee?”

“That depends. What does it taste like?”

A couple seconds passed before she recalled their prior conversation. “Sweet. And a bit bitter. Coffee’s always bitter, no matter what humans try to do to make the flavor smoother. But it’s sweet.”

Gabriel glanced between her and the cup in her hand. When she held it out in offering, he took a sip and paused.

“Well?”

“If I’m being honest, I think I like that more than tea.”

Xaslem broke out in a grin and laughed softly. “Want to trade, since I like both?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. Here. Swap.” They traded drinks before she linked arms with him. “Park, next? Familiar territory. And we can feed some birds.”

“Do the birds in this city have that hard a time finding food?” Gabriel questioned unironically.

She snorted, and a peel of laughter left her before she sighed. “No. It’s just fun to do.”

\---------

“I thought you said you were going to feed birds.” Gabriel glanced at the duck pond they were walking past.

“Everyone feeds the ducks and pigeons.” Xaslem scoffed, moving down a path that ran beside a lone blackthorn tree and some large patches of flowers. “I’m here to feed more intelligent company.” 

He frowned.

“No, that wasn’t directed at you, this time.”

He didn’t miss how she had said ‘this time.’ After tossing the empty cups into a recycling bin, Xaslem went to one of the few vendor carts in the park, purchasing a bag of peanuts and rejoining him to move further down the path.

They came to a few oak trees, surrounded by flower beds, a couple benches, and a handrail separating the patch from the path. There were no birds to be seen, until Xaslem let out a peculiar whistle. Within moments, there were nearly a dozen very large, sleek ravens that came into view. Some perched on the arches of the fence. Other, more cautious birds perched in the branches with curious, low croaking sounds.

“You feed ravens?” Gabriel cocked a brow at the idea.

“I’ve been feeding the same family of ravens for a few decades by now.” Xaslem opened the paper bag in her hands.

“And you’re feeding them peanuts.”

“I can’t exactly bring a package of ground beef in here, pancake.” She held up a peanut toward the closest bird.

The raven warbled and hopped closer, glancing at Gabriel before looking at Xaslem and flicking its tailfeathers in what might’ve been a wag.

“Yes, I see you, Iko. Yes. Hello.” She spoke as if to a child as she pet at the bird’s chest and scratched its head, all before giving it the peanut. “Here you go, pretty girl.”

It flew up to the tree, pinning the peanut under foot and prying it open.

“They like cracking the shell and getting it themselves. I used to give them pistachios, but they got bored. And I stopped giving them walnuts when I saw one playing in traffic, using cars to run it over and get it open. So… peanuts.”

“You named them, though?” Gabriel questioned.

“Yeah. Why not?”

He paused, supposing that was a fair question. “How do you tell them apart?”

“Voice, usually. You learn what to listen for.” She watched another raven swoop in, landing by her with ruffle feathers, and the bird clapped its beak at her companion. “Now, if I have to be nice, so do you, Micah.”

This one, Micah, trilled at her and clicked in its throat.

“Yes. I know.” She handed him a peanut and watched him fly off. “He doesn’t like strangers.”

After a moment, more of the birds came. There seemed to be a queue, or some form of order. Xaslem introduced each one. She even offered to let him pet one named Sorcha, whom she claimed was the friendliest. Gabriel declined, merely watching as each bird got some scritches, some praise, and a peanut. One for each of them, before they disappeared deeper into the park, back the way they’d come.

“How often do you do this?” Gabriel glanced at her.

She shrugged. “When I can. It’s been a month or so since I last did it. I’ve been topside since the apocanope.”

“The… what?”

“The end that never happened, the apocawasnt, the near-miss… None of us could agree what to call it.” Xaslem turned, walking with him down the path.

Gabriel looked down at her as she linked arms with him, shifting his arm out so she had better access. “What was it like in Hell, after that day?”

“Business as usual. After the trial and failed execution, Satan walked in, laughing, and told everyone off. Told them to leave Crowley be.”

“He wasn’t Excommunicated?”

“We don’t Excommunicate. We’re not anarchists, but we’re not as rigid as you. Anything short of permanently killing one another is fair game, and since Adam restored everything including Ligur, and the failed execution… Crowley was deemed sufficiently punished and the matter closed.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to.” It lacked her usual bite or malice. “We’re demons. Everything we do is chaotic and wrong. A sin. So, it doesn’t matter what we do.”

Gabriel hesitated briefly. “That’s not exactly true.”

“Isn’t it? That’s why, if Metatron’s precious little Armageddon and war happened, we’d all die. All the demons, all the humans… Because we don’t deserve to exist.”

“He’s wrong.” His arm tightened fractionally on hers, and he paused. “I was wrong.”

Xaslem leaned her head over against his arm. “I hope so. I really do.”

The pair walked quietly together for a while. She had eventually lifted her head away, if only to save her neck and keep any humans from gawking and going ‘awww.’ It was quiet, mid-afternoon or so. The sun was shining, warm where the air was cool, and what clouds there were to be seen were fluffy white things like cotton candy. For once, her creations weren’t mocking her, and it felt… nice. Walking side-by-side with this idiot angel felt nicer than anything she’d felt in a very long time. She couldn’t help but smile.

“You did pretty well, today.” Xaslem told him, breaking the silence.

“I’m not an idiot.” Gabriel informed her.

“I never really said you were.” She informed him, sighing quietly. “There’s enough time to catch a movie, if you want.”

“I think I’ve had my fill of people. I’d prefer movies at the house, if you’re honestly asking me to sit and watch one with you.”

A smile tugged at her mouth as she stepped closer, brushing against his side. He didn’t seem to take issue. Then, he stopped, unlinking their arms and reached out to stop her.

Her question as to why died in her throat when she realized there was someone at the end of the path, staring them down. An angel, from her presence. A fellow Archangel, but where he was an Arch-Cherub, this one was an Arch-Seraph. Much more powerful. That alone had the demon on-edge.

Gabriel pushed Xaslem behind himself.

Michael strode up to him, her expression cold. “I’d hoped it wasn’t true. But, here you are. Fraternizing.”

“I’m not fraternizing, Michael. Beelzebub assigned her as my match here on Earth. You know the rules. Balance.”

“Rules. High talk from a traitor, walking hand-in-hand like a romantic couple.”

“Traitor?” His brows furrowed as he stared at his sibling. “Michael, I walked in on Metatron and Sandalphon conspiring! They—”

“You never were a very good liar.”

“I’m not lying! Michael, when have I ever lied to you?!”

“You never told me Crowley was our brother, for one! A lie of omission is still a lie!”

Gabriel winced. “It wasn’t my place to tell anyone that. It was his business. And since he fell… interacting with him WOULD have been fraternizing, despite him being our brother.”

Michael shook her head, leering venomously at him. “I can’t believe you. All this time… How long have you been working for the other side?”

“I’m not…! For Heaven’s sake, Michael, would you listen to me?!”

“Metatron is the Almighty’s voice. It’s him we listen to, and by extension, Her.”

“He’s lying to you! All of you!”

There came a long pause. Xaslem glared at the other angel past her companion’s arm.

“Gabriel…” Michael’s voice was cold and hard. “This is your only chance. Come back. Repent. Maybe they’ll have mercy.”

“Are you insane?! Michael, they’ll kill me! You heard what they wanted to do to Aziraphale! What do you think they’d do to me?!”

The world greyed out around them. A show of a heavy glamor field, masking their presence from any humans. Xaslem went rigid, snapping her fingers as quietly as she could, calling a butterfly knife to her hand. Gabriel glanced between himself and his twin as a golden, ethereal cord appeared between them.

“Michael… what’re you doing?” He paled, staring at her.

“Metatron believes you haven’t Fallen because of our fraternal bond. I gave you a chance. You threw it in my face.” Michael wrapped the line round her fingers. “Practice what you preach, brother. Those who turn away from the Lord don’t deserve Her grace.”

“Michael, don’t!” He stepped toward her.

She jerked the ethereal tether. There was a crack of thunder when it snapped and Gabriel shouted, clutching at his chest as his knees gave out mid-step. Xaslem caught him with a surprised cry, lowering him to the ground, knife falling from her grasp. She felt his aura flutter like a candle in the wind. By the time she looked up to snarl at Michael, the other angel was gone.

Keeping the glamour up around them, she knelt by the angel, and tensed when she saw blood dripping from his nose. He was pale, and cold.

“Gabriel, you have to get up. We need to go.”

He shuddered. “I… I can’t… I feel…”

Her wings unfurled, surrounding him as she pulled her phone out. “I’m getting us out of here. Just hang on.”

\---------

Aziraphale heaved a sigh as the phone rang. He’d been in the middle of reorganizing his books to make room for his latest acquisition. Frankly, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone. But the matter was that it was ringing. Sighing heavily, he set the books in his hands down and strode over to the phone, picking it up.

“I’m sorry, but—”

[Zira, I’m coming through the phone! Drop it!]

He did so, more out of surprise than anything else. There was a flurry of smoke, soot, and pixels before he suddenly had a demon and an unconscious Archangel in the floor of his shop.

“Oh good lord!” Aziraphale snapped his fingers, causing all the blinds to drop and sign to flip as he knelt beside them.

Footfalls came running down the stairs. The second Crowley laid eyes on them, he rushed over. “What happened?!”

“Michael happened! We were walking in Regents when she came up and she…! I dunno what she did but he just grabbed at his chest and dropped!”

Crowley checked his sibling’s eyes. The normally vibrant purple irises had greyed, glassy and unresponsive. “He’s gone cold. Out like a light. Xaslem, what did Michael do? Tell me exactly.”

“She was yelling and was confronting him about some fucking nonsense! Then this glowing thread appeared between them and she pulled it and it broke! The he just… collapsed!”

“Shit… Angel, help me get him up the stairs – save miracles for healing him. Xaslem, follow us up and miracle some warm blankets. Now.”

While Crowley grabbed Gabriel under the arms, Aziraphale secured the archangel’s legs. “Heading?”

“Sofa.”

He nodded.

Xaslem followed them upstairs. They laid Gabriel on the couch, and she conjured up some throw blankets, hot as if fresh from a dryer. As Aziraphale laid the blankets over the archangel, Crowley checked his eyes again.

“Not getting any paler, that’s good. Angel, can you call one of his wings out?”

“Of course.” A spark of Grace along his fingers coaxed the uppermost left appendage out, draping the floor and grazing the wall with its size.

Crowley extended the wing out a bit, pulling into his lap as he sat on the coffee table and checked the plumage. His feathers had darkened at the edges and the lavender undersides had paled to an almost completely slate tone.

“What did she do to him?” Xaslem questioned, her brows furrowed and eyes trained on the unconscious angel.

“Way back when, angels were made in batches, for lack of better terms. Siblings. Sometimes twins. Twins, like Gabriel and Michael, pool grace. And if one twin breaks that fraternal tether between them… and the other isn’t prepared for it or doesn’t fight it… it rips out a chunk of their Grace with it.”

“Is… Is he Falling?”

“No, but he’ll be weak for a while. It takes a long time for people to bounce back from this.”

“So he’ll heal? His Grace’ll come back?”

“Given enough time.” Crowley nodded, frowning. “Provided he doesn’t…”

“Doesn’t what?”

No answer.

“Crowley, I swear to Satan…”

Crowley looked over at her, expression dark. “Provided he doesn’t die from shock.”

“But… if he discorporates, he’ll end up—”

“Not discorporate.” He corrected quietly. “Die.”

Xaslem paled, suddenly dizzy at the notion. No. No, no, no…

Aziraphale moved closer to her, coaxing her into a hug and holding her, shushing her softly. She didn’t sob. She was perfectly silent as she rested her head on his chest, her face against his bicep as she stared at the archangel’s unconscious form. Aziraphale rubbed her back.

“He’s strong, darling.” He murmured, and kissed her brow as one would a frightened child. “And incessantly stubborn. He’ll pull through.”

“Y-You don’t know that.” Xaslem sneered at how her voice shook.

“Yes, I do.”

\---------

“The orders were to kill him!” Uriel shouted, getting in her fellow Archangel’s face.

Putting a hand on the other’s chest, Michael pushed her away, sharply but not with true force. “When he Falls, it will no longer be necessary. He won’t be a threat any longer.”

“He has always been a threat! Sandalphon shouldn’t be the one to pay for your brother’s duplicity! He nearly died!”

“I agree, and yes, I know.” Michael leered at her, eyes bright, hands clasped behind herself rather than in front – a tell that showed how close to lashing out she really was.

“If he hasn’t already spilled all of Heaven’s secrets to the enemy, he certainly will once he’s one of them! If you can’t do what’s necessary, then stand aside for someone who can!”

“Oh? And I take it that someone is supposed to be you?”

A silence fell between them, and among the angels at the other end of the conference room. They’d all moved away from the pair in case it came to blows. Before, such a thing wouldn’t have crossed their minds, but now, it was a tangible worry. Everything was a very real fear, now, and few angels knew how to cope besides to curl into a ball and hope they missed the action.

When Uriel failed to answer, Michael scoffed. “No. I thought not. … You’ve known Gabriel as long as I have. And whether he’s been under duress or somehow hexed, it won’t matter. He’ll Fall, soon. And we can work on repairing whatever damage he’s caused.”

“Of COURSE you think he’s hexed, or bewitched! Always the innocent one! Do you think She or Metatron will tolerate such blatant disobedience?” Uriel sneered venomously at her. “How can we be sure you’re not conspiring with him?”

“We’re all running tense, right now. Metatron was the one whom taught us and humans to seek justice and just solutions. This is one such solution. I am sorry for what happened to Sandalphon. But what happened doesn’t change my mind. If I’m to Fall or be executed, so be it.”

She sputtered.

“Besides… how will traitors learn if killed? The dead can’t learn. Becoming a demon will be a proper lesson for him, and his conspirators. A lesson in the cost of their mistakes.”

“I hope he doesn’t survive.” Uriel spat, turning and marching for the doors. “Thankfully, not many who Fall to the circle of Betrayal do.”

Michael watched her leave, frowning, before sighing to herself. “If that is Her will… then so be it.”

\---------


	16. Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another OC approaches!
> 
> Karazan – formerly the Cherub Xasadiel, now Fallen; his animal aspect is a black dog (borzoi), and his wings are those of a kingfisher (but black due to his Fall)

Things were tense and they spoke little. Aziraphale was in his armchair, reading one of his misprinted bibles, while Crowley sat on the arm of the sofa, by Gabriel’s feet. Watching the Archangel carefully for any signs of improvement or decline. Xaslem was lying on her back on the ottoman, staring despondently up at the ceiling.

Gabriel had survived the night, which Crowley claimed was a good sign. It was always a good sign. Xaslem had decided, however, that if Azrael were to show up, she’d fight him. Consequences be damned. She was just starting to like the bastard and now he could just… up and die.

She sensed something. A soft ripple in his aura that had her sitting bolt upright fast enough to scoot the ottoman forward a couple inches. After glancing between her and the unconscious Archangel, Crowley stood and moved to check on him.

“Gabriel, can you hear me?”

The response he got was a mumbled string of semi-coherent Enochian words, weak and broken. Dazedly asking where he was.

“You’re safe. Xas brought you to the bookshop.” Crowley supplied, checking the Archangel’s eyes.

A hand rose to push him away, wincing in the dim lighting. He was weak enough that his hand shook. Crowley shushed him, lying his sibling’s hand down and hovering his palm over Gabriel’s chest. There was a dull but strong silver glow in Crowley’s hand, and a muted violet glow from under blankets and clothes.

“How is he, dear?” Aziraphale questioned, having already set his book and reading glasses aside.

“Still fragile.” Crowley sighed, pouting. “His Grace is coming back at a trickle. His core’s gonna be scarred. You’d be able to see the damage clear as day on his Celestial form.”

“Will it hurt him?” Xaslem questioned, brows furrowing. “Like, phantom pains or shit like that?”

“Nah. Shouldn’t. But you know most angels are a judgmental sort. Even toward themselves.”

She stood and moved closer, looking down at him. The Archangel’s face was still pale, and his hair looked faded. She frowned.

“He’ll be okay, Xas.” Crowley told her, gazing at the shorter demon.

“I… I should take him back to the house. Get some better wards set up.” Xaslem muttered, pouting. “He’s a target. I can’t risk putting all four of us in danger.”

“We shouldn’t risk jostling him out of his corporation by porting or shortcutting.” The taller demon frowned, and sighed. “I can drive you, if you want.”

She chewed her lower lip, slowly walking around the couch as she cracked her knuckles and wrists. He was right. She knew that much. His aura was so weak… the tether between himself and his body was probably equally weak. If he fell or slipped out of place, he’d get pulled back up to Heaven… and the angels would kill him.

“Yeah. If…” Xaslem sniffed. “Yeah.”

\---------

Xaslem wasn’t like most demons. And of course, not like angels. She had learned the workings of human magics ages ago, usually in her travels, from Shinto chants to banish evil to Creole incense mixes to carry messages via dreams. Human magic was useful, unexpected, and less exhausting than miracles. And as an Ethereal being, an Occult being, it was far more potent and effective than when cast by a mere human. They had created so many useful spells from the basics she had created and laid down, in Eden.

Setting up a chime-spell around the bed where Gabriel was laid down in his room was easy. Meant to alert her if he woke up and moved more than breathing. After, when Crowley and Aziraphale had left, Xaslem strode into the woods across the field from the house. She gathered rocks, using a miracle to get them to the house before then marching in a circle around house and placing said stones three feet apart each, the circle 333 feet in any direction from the building, making a warding barrier.

To humans, it would be invisible. To ethereal beings, occult and celestial, it would look like glowing runes burned into the ground. Crossing them uninvited and-or intending harm, or otherwise, would alert her and cause the intruder burning pain on their skin and the soles of their feet. A simple but effective spell, made all the more powerful as she poured raw emotion into it.

When she finished, she was exhausted and came to stand on the porch, staring out at nothing as her elbows rested on the railing. Xaslem rubbed her brow, wishing she had a drink. Some Kahlua or Baileys. Or both.

“Busy day, I take it?”

Her gaze snapped to the barrier, but she relaxed a bit when she recognized the interloper. To humans, he would look like a large, black Borzoi hound with sharp, overgrown claws and gleaming honey-colored eyes. The aura radiating off him, however, gave him away. That, and the talking.

“Been a while since I’ve seen you around, Karazan.” Xaslem intoned, not entirely unhappy to see him. “You can come over, if you want.”

Taking the invitation, the taller Lust demon assumed his human form in a whirl of steam and mist. He strode closer to her, up to stand by her on the porch. A familiar demon, standing with hands clasped behind his back. His corporation was that of a human in their mid- or perhaps late-forties. Five-foot-eight or so, though other features such as build were largely concealed by his clothes. His olive skin was almost sickly pale, the angles of his face softly rounded, including his otherwise square jaw.

Slightly pouty lips. Rounded eyes with slight bags under them. Those orbs were the color of honey, a woodsy kind of gold. Dimples in his cheeks, shallow wrinkles in his brow. His hair was a salt-and-pepper, more silver from the temples-down. Parted at an angle and swept to the side, slightly longer on top and shorter elsewhere. There was some stubble on his face, bangs draping his brow. Dark violet button-up with no tie and the first couple buttons undone, beneath a grey-pinstriped black vest. Black slacks, black jacket, scuffed black dress shoes. Through the V of his shirt, one could see a light dusting of greyed curls.

Xaslem straightened. “Want to come inside? I can make tea.”

“No, thank you. I don’t mean to be here long.” Karazan said politely, straightening his vest. “And I’m only recently getting use to… associating… with angels.”

“Fair enough. So… What brings you here?”

“As much as I wish this was a social call, I heard about what happened to your own associate.”

She arched a brow. “He’s been here nearly a month. I figured everyone knew—”

“No, no. Not him being Excommunicated. All of Hell knows that by now, yes, even though news spreads below like cold molasses.”

The comparison made her scoff quietly and give a brief smirk.

“I’m referring to the recent incident in Regent’s Park.”

Xaslem tensed, gazing at him. “How…?”

“Heard it from an associate of Barbatos. And Barbatos is being fed information by Sarfael.” Karazan informed her.

Cold dread washed up her spine, the back of her neck prickling.

He frowned darkly. “And you and I both know whom Sarfael serves.” 

“Yeah. I’m aware. … So, he’s sicking Barbatos on me, soon?”

“From what I can deduce and what little I’ve heard, Rosier called a favor with Barbatos. A very substantial favor. I’m not sure if the target is you or Gabriel. But he wants one of you dead. Not discorporated. DEAD.”

“Fuck’s sake…” She dragged her hands down her face.

He glanced to the field around the house. “Good thing you thought of this. It’ll be useful.”

“Do you want a favor? In exchange for the info? Only fair.”

“Yes, but nothing extreme. I, ah… I have a date. And I’m wondering where I should take him. If you could suggest any places, that’d be helpful.”

“You? On a date?” She propped her head in hand with a slight smile. “Can I ask who?”

Karazan fidgeted and glanced aside. “An angel. A Throne, by the name of Valasiel.”

“Huh. Okay. What’s he like?”

“Confusing. In the sense the first thing he did when he saw me was save me from the advances of a persistent, drunken university student.” He shuddered with a disgusted face. “But he’s pleasant. And… chivalrous, for lack of better term.”

“Yet, you met him at a bar.”

The taller demon nodded. “As I’ve said. Confusing. But he’s… pleasant.”

Xaslem considered for a long moment. Karazan didn’t trust easily. If he trusted anyone, it was herself and Crowley. Along with this, she’d heard Aziraphale mention Valasiel now and then, and in a positive fashion. She considered, running through her mind and thinking about her favorite restaurants before settling on a couple.

“Fancy or pub?” She questioned.

“Fancy.” Karazan deadpanned. “As if I’d ever eat in a pub.”

“There’s a wonderful French restaurant off in Mayfair called Mon Petit Bleu. You’ll need reservations.”

“Thank you much.” Karazan turned to leave, and paused at the foot of the steps. “Do try to be careful. You can be vicious… but there are things out there worse than you.”

“You’ve never seen me pissed off.”

Karazan scoffed. In a whirl of dark steam, he resumed his canine shape and trotted away across the field, disappearing into the tree shade down the road.

Sensing the chime-spell going off, Xaslem made her way inside. She found Gabriel awake, sitting up on his bed, legs crisscrossed and elbows on his knees as he hung his head in his hands. His breaths were shaking, silent sobs causing a tremble across his shoulders. She caught a glint of tears in the light from the window.

“Gabriel…?”

No answer came. Little if any response.

Frowning, she strode toward him. The mattress dipped a bit as she crawled onto the bed and knelt behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders. As she slid her hands forward, down his shoulder-blades and around his sides, a quiet sob managed to escape from the tight confines of his throat. He tried to curl in tighter on himself, hunching away from the warmth of her aura as it brushed against his.

“It… It hurts.” He choked, and almost gagged.

“I know.” She rested her chest against his back. “Let me help.”

His aura shuddered away from hers. In her mind’s eye, she could see his Core. A violet, tilted cube or diamond, circled by six gleaming halos. Horrid cracks, chips, and missing shards could be seen on the surface of the shape, scratching against her own Core, her aura, as he tried to push her away.

“Stop…” Gabriel winced, flinching beneath her.

Xaslem unfolded her wings, the gossamer black appendages closing around him.

Surrounded by warmth. An unholy warmth that was too soft, too sweet, as it pressed against the fresh wounds in his Celestial being. “You… You can’t… You’ll…”

“Shh… Let me heal you. That’s all I’m doing. Nothing more.”

Her wings closed tighter around him. Blocking out the sun, the light of Heaven. Shielding him from the home that had turned its back on him. Her aura again pressed against his. Vaguely, he could picture her core. A glimmering emerald icosahedron, orbited by a field of broken shards that were once a halo, but no longer.

Again, her aura brushed his, and he reluctantly allowed it. The warmth burned, discomfort just on the edge of pain, making him gasp as it seeped into the wound like scalding water. Unholy energy… Occult power… This was wrong. Wrong. He was going to Fall. He was going to die—

“No, you aren’t.” Xaslem rested her brow against the back of his head. “Breathe. Slow, deep breaths.”

The angel tried to do as she told him. Occasional quiet, pained sounds escaped him through the process. Like cleaning up any wound, it hurt. His corporation registered it as a lancing, physical burn in his chest. Intense enough that he occasionally gagged, but he forced it down rather than becoming sick. Xaslem raised a hand to brush her fingers through his hair, the demon keeping him grounded and shielded.

“I can’t sense her anymore.” Gabriel muttered, still shivering. “I can’t hear her.”

“The Lord, or Michael?” She murmured.

“Michael.”

“Forget her. She abandoned you. Didn’t even hear you out. You don’t need people like that in your life.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” Xaslem pressed her aura closer against him, healing energy seeping deeper into the cracks like cauterizing a wound. “Sometimes, it’s better to cut your losses.”

A pained groan clipped off in his throat at the sensation. His Grace and Divine Fury dissolved her Hellish Rebuke, feeding off it, fueling the healing process.

“She made her choice. Understand?”

He felt a flicker of Occult energy, his brows furrowing. “Xaslem…?”

“Shh…” She nuzzled the back of his head as she began to speak. “I am the Demon, Xaslem. I am the Fallen Virtue, the Egregore, Zahrandiel.”

Gabriel winced at how hearing her former Celestial name made his ears ring.

She ignored the bitter taste her old name left in its wake, and continued. “I am Egregore. And you are my Charge. If you Fall, I will catch you. If you face danger, I face it with you. My life, for your life.”

A quaking, pained sound left him when he felt the pact wash over him, like the wound being pinched closed. Healing in slow motion. Burning, stinging, seething… and then calm. 

The burning sensation of her aura pulled away, leaving a spiderweb of scars more fully-healed than before, sanding down jagged breaks and harsh angles from his Core.

“Xaslem, I—”

“Shh. I’m…” Her eyes fluttered and she slumped against him. “I want you to lay down and try to rest. To sleep. I’ll stay here. The whole time.”

“You exhausted yourself, didn’t you.” He frowned. Focusing on her took the edge off his own emotions, giving him something to deal with and pay attention to.

“A little. I’m fine.” She slid off him and laid on her side, one hand gesturing to the space beside her. “Just a few hours.”

Swallowing hard, Gabriel heeded her, lying beside her. In that instant, it felt like the physical and emotional exhaustion, the mental anguish, all came crashing down on him at once. Like a metaphysical weight of fatigue he’d never felt before. Xaslem curled against him, coaxing him to rest his brow against her shoulder as her wing draped over him.

“Just a few hours.” She said again, yawned, and closed her eyes. “I promise.”

\---------


	17. Recovery

Waking up with an angel was… well, nice. She wasn’t cold, for once, meaning she actually slept in. At first, she didn’t move, though she purred softly. He seemed to still be asleep. A much heavier sleeper than her, despite not being accustomed to it. Or he was just that exhausted.

They had apparently moved in their sleep. Xaslem found herself wrapped up in an embrace, part on her side, part not, her legs resting up over his thighs while his legs were tucked up under her backside. His face was pressed into her neck and shoulder. Somewhere along the line, her wings had folded back into the ether.

Slowly, she shifted to lean up on one elbow. His expression was relaxed, but she heard the subtle uptick of his corporation’s pulse. A vague awareness something had moved or changed. He was starting to wake up.

Sitting up more fully, she braced one hand by his shoulder, legs tucking up beside her as she carded her fingers through his hair. A small sound left him, Gabriel slowly cracking an eye at her, the orb a soft and – for lack of better term – relaxed lilac hue.

“Good morning.” Xaslem murmured.

“Morning.” Gabriel muttered in reply. “Your hair’s a mess.”

“It usually is, first thing.” She snickered, and grinned. “I don’t think YOUR hair’s long enough to work up a decent bed-head, though.”

“Bed-head?”

“Messy hair when someone first wakes up. ‘S called bed-head.”

He blinked, vision clearing from the comfortable haze. The past few hours came back to him steadily. Like an afterthought instead of sudden remembrance he was used to. “You… made yourself my Egregore?”

“I did.” Xaslem said stiffly, despite having known the conversation was bound to happen.

“Why would you do that? … You’ll be stuck with me until one of us dies.”

She swallowed hard and looked away.

“Xaslem.”

“Many reasons.” The demon finally told him, but refused to elaborate, looking down at him. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. Still upset. But you gave me some food for thought.”

“I’m glad. Brain food’s always a good thing.”

He sat up, wincing. “I’m not certain that’s what ‘brain food’ refers to.” 

Xaslem shrugged. “Semantics.”

“Nor do I believe that’s the correct use of semantics.”

She hissed quietly at him, the flash of fangs brief and halfhearted at best.

“How long was I asleep?”

Summoning her phone to her hand, she checked the date. “Three days? Give or take.”

“Three days? I was asleep for three days?!”

“Shh…” A ripple of Occult energy, calming warmth, washed over him. “Yes. But after what happened, you needed it. You were unconscious for longer than that.”

Gabriel frowned at her.

“You almost died. You don’t think that’s worth a little rest?”

“I don’t have TIME to rest. I have to figure out what’s going on before Metatron figures out how to make his plans succeed. And I don’t know how much time he needs, to do it.”

* Without warning, Xaslem’s phone spouted off a tune. {Today I don’t feel like doin anything, I just wanna lay in my bed; Don’t feel like pickin up my phone, so leave a message at the tone; cause today I swear I’m not doin anything…}

Xaslem snickered and wiggled a brow his way. “See? Even my phone thinks you need a break.”

She tossed her phone into the pillows and sat up on her knees, stretching her hands upwards and fully extending her claws, arching her back. The burn of a good stretch made her sigh, and she gave a quiet, pitching yawn. Xaslem felt his eyes on her, and some part of her relished it before logic came and crushed her dreams. Logic stood that it was good to give him a distraction, but she put the brakes on it before she became to invested.

“Well, I feel like coffee. You?” Xaslem peered over her shoulder at him.

Gabriel fumbled for a protest. That same way he had when she asked to fly with him, ages ago. Trying to find an excuse not to. After a moment – whether he was just too tired or was past caring, now – he gave up and nodded, and followed her into the kitchen. He seated himself at the counter bar, rubbing his eyes and then his temples before propping his chin in hand. Xaslem picked a coffee she liked when she was sad or upset. A blonde roast. She put a bit of sugar and a pinch of cinnamon at the bottom, and finished the cup with cream. It was set in front of him.

Xaslem then made her own cup of coffee, summoned and set her phone aside, and let her coffee sit by the Keurig while she went through the pantry, finding some ingredients and some mixing bowls.

“Can we talk?”

She froze as she closed the pantry door, and her eyes slid closed. She took a deep breath, and turned. “What about?”

“What just happened, for starters. Or… What happened before we slept for three days.”

“Not much to talk about.” Xaslem shrugged, forcing an even expression as she began measuring flour into the bowl. 

“You just named yourself my Guardian, so I think there is. … Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Her gaze rose to meet his. “Pass.”

But he didn’t let up. “For all I know, paperwork has just materialized in heaven, listing this connection. You’ve—”

“What, made myself a target? I did that when I helped you in the park. You want to talk about something? Talk about why you’re still wearing my chain.”

Gabriel glanced down at his left wrist, at the intricate copper chain. His right hand covered it protectively. He pursed his lips and stared down at the counter.

The silence between them was filled with the sound of a whisk in a bowl, and pancake batter sizzling on a flat pan. Her point had been made. She wasn’t up for a discussion, though a twinge of guilt did run through her chest as he sipped quietly at his coffee.

* And her idiot phone piped up again. {You, you got what I need, but you say he's just a friend, And you say he's just a friend, oh baby—}

Xaslem seized the device and threw it clear into the living room, where it met the far wall with a solid smack and thudded to the floor. It probably dented the wall, but she didn’t care right now.

“Now what did it do to deserve that?” Gabriel huffed quietly.

“It knows what it did.” Xaslem sneered the device’s way.

\---------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The Lazy Song by Bruno Mars  
> * Just a Friend by Biz Markie


	18. Memo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And another OC!
> 
> Enuiel - Cherub; wings are those of a gyrfalcon

Beelzebub arched a brow, pausing mid-shuffle of paperwork when she spied an unfamiliar form among everyday business. It was typed as per all other documents in Hell, and she could tell by small inconsistencies which typewriter had done it. Attached was a yellow, coffee-stained sticky note that said, “I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry, lord.” With a leer, she read the paper over.

{MEMO}  
{To: Lord Satan; Prince of Hell, Beelzebub; Duke of Heresy, Dagon}  
{cc: Lord Satan; Prince of Hell, Beelzebub; Duke of Heresy, Dagon}  
{Date: 7/23/19}  
{Subject: Notice of Guardianship?}

{Upon this day, Fallen Egregore Virtue Xaslem, formerly Zahrandiel, has sworn her guardianship to Arch-Cherub Gabriel, and used binding words, and swore on her own life. Reasons unknown. Calls made to Xaslem went unanswered. IDK what else to put here. Sorry.}

Beelzebub’s brows arched sharply. She read it over a second time, and a third.

An angel… THE angel… had a guardian demon. And no sooner than she thought this, her mate came bursting into her office, her own copy in hand. Cutting off any questions or tirade, the Prince of Hell held up her copy as well, showing that yes, she had received it. A snap of her fingers had the doors of her office closing behind Dagon, the Duke of Heresy walking closer.

“What does this mean?” Dagon questioned. “What should we do?”

Her gaze drifted to the rotary phone on the corner of her desk. As she reached for it, another memo suddenly appeared on her desk, embers clinging to the edges of it.

{MEMO}  
{To: Beelzebub, Prince of Hell; The Dukes of Hell; Fallen Seraph Arachne}  
{cc: Beelzebub, Prince of Hell; The Dukes of Hell; Fallen Seraph Arachne}  
{Date: 7/23/19}  
{RE/FWD: Notice of Guardianship}  
{Seeing as Arch-Cherub Gabriel now has a Fallen Egregore as a guardian, he is hereby under the protection of Hell. Any harm done to him, or Xaslem by extension, will be dealt with by myself and Azazel personally. Gabriel is our guest, from now on.}

{Lord Satan & Lady Azazel}

“Nothing, I suppozzzze.” Beelzebub brushed the embers away. “It seems our lordship actually read the mail. It’s dealt with.”

“But why would she…?” Dagon trailed off, and considered a moment. “You don’t suppose—”

“For all I know, they’re fucking. But I don’t know. And I don’t care.” She unlocked a drawer in her desk and tucked the two memos away. “I suggest you make extra copies and put them in your safe.”

With a nod, she turned and made her way back to her office. She hoped the copy machine was in a good mood, today.

\---------

[Sir,] Hofniel’s voice came over the intercom on Metatron’s desk, [Cherub Enuiel is here to see you. He says its urgent.]

“Tell him to go speak to Sandalphon. I’m indesposed.” Metatron huffed, and quietly sipped at a glass of wine.

[With all due respect…]

He glowered at the machine.

[Sir, he states he showed it to Sandalphon, and Uriel, and Michael. The Archangels insisted he bring it to your attention. Under guard, as well.]

Arching a brow, he miracled away the drink and straightened his attire, sitting up straight in his plush throne. “Very well. Send him up.”

There was a moment of quiet before the elevator came up, and from it emerged Enuiel. Ever the dutiful soldier, he was in his uniform, kilt and all, with armored pauldrons and gauntlets. He was brown-haired and brown-eyed, golden freckles dusting both cheeks and his chin. His facial hair was trimmed short, kempt, just as his hair was done in a slicked-back undercut.

“Sir.” Enuiel bowed his head, and held an ornate scroll out to him. “I’m terribly sorry. But you need to see this.”

Quietly Metatron took the scroll from him and stepped away, unrolling it by the window.

Enuiel didn’t like him. Never had. Something always felt off or skewed about the Divine Voice. The only difference between him and the latest Fallen was that he had the good sense to keep his mouth shut, and pray that Gabriel or someone else found a solution.

There was a snap as the wax seal was opened, and a slither of golden ribbon.

{MEMORANDUM}  
{To: Arch-Seraph Metatron; All Archangels}  
{CC: Arch-Seraph Metatron; All Archangels}  
{Date: August 24th, 2019 AD}  
{Re: Guardianship of Archangel Gabriel}

His brows furrowed. His free hand came up to grip the other side of the scroll. In an instant, he was tense as a bow all over, staring down at the paper with a grim expectation.

{Our file on the Demon Xaslem, formerly Egregore Virtue Zahrandiel, has had an unexpected update. We registered binding words and a solemn oath. It would seem she has named herself Gabriel’s guardian angel. Or, demon, rather. We checked our file on Gabriel to confirm, and his reflected the same change, with Xaslem listed as his guardian.}

{From: Angel Wynne, Reconnaissance Department}

Metatron felt his corporation’s stomach drop. Felt his face pale and his fingers go numb. “Get out.”

“Sir?”

“Leave. Now, please.”

Enuiel hesitated.

“Dismissed!” Metatron then shouted, glaring at him.

The tinge in his voice was… not Divine Fury, and Enuiel swore he smelt charcoal on the air. Slowly, he backed up a step, forced a stiff bow, turned, and left.

Only when the elevator descended did Metatron seize his marble desk by the edge, and throw it across the room. The solid stone thundered against the wall, caving it in and cracking the dark-veined pale stone.

He bit his tongue bloody to keep from shouting, ROARING, in rage. His wings unfurled, the eight appendages filling the air with the stench of sulfur that always haunted him even when it was too hidden for others to notice. He seized his throne and likewise threw it. It thudded against the floor, the entire right side cracking and splintering where it landed.

Then, he stood panting in silence, hands on his hips. He counted down in his head, reining in his anger as best he could.

This changed everything.

A snap of his fingers had his desk and chair back in place. Another snap repaired any damage… except for the damage to his throne. He snapped a third time. A fourth. And a fifth. But nothing repaired the vicious cracks to the Celestial metals the throne had been forged of.

Sneering, he folded his wings away.

\---------

Silence and singing dunes were suddenly cast aside for a resounding chime. It echoed through the halls of Purgatory, through the ruined remains of the monastery and across the fields of stardust. 

There were no Watchers in the towers to hear it. No guards upon the gates. Only a low, hollow, metallic ringing, more like a horn than a bell. Runes long since dormant suddenly glowed a pale grey along lines of red stone and faded murals, leading up old stairways to a hall of monoliths and fountains.

Within, knelt before the tallest monolith, a hooded figure raised their head.

\---------


	19. Say Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And another OC.
> 
> Valasiel – Archangel, Throne; his wings are those of a golden eagle
> 
> And some violence. Xaslem isn't exactly nice about what she sees as a potential threat. I'm sorry, Sarfael.

Xaslem had to leave for a while. Had to “go see an old friend.” Gabriel got the distinct feeling that yes, she felt she had to go do something, and no, it was anything BUT a friend.

He chose not to comment, and prayed that the wards she had set up held as he sat in his office, combing over some papers Beelzebub and Dagon had faxed him. They didn’t hold many more answers than what Aziraphale had given him, and the contradicting information made it that much more complicated and tedious.

That left him to his own devices and, in the quiet of his office, he unfurled his wings. Carefully, because of the size of them.

It was a habit Gabriel had picked up after the war. He had started coming off it… but then the Battle of Eden happened, and it continued for a while. Just when he thought he’d kicked it for good, the ‘apocanope’ happened. And after that, he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Even when he tried.

Before Lucifer’s rebellion, preening had been an almost social affair. Not everyone was flexible enough to do it themselves, and so it became an activity among friends. Or, if alone with one person, it could’ve been intimate. Wings had once been a very important thing. Used for body language and display. It was so profound, that the Almighty had made birds mirror many of those behaviors.

But then the war came. The battle. So many had Fallen, and many had died. Gathering to preen was fraught with horrid reminders and grief, bleeding so much emotion, that angels either learned to do it themselves, or gave up on it altogether.

For Gabriel, he fell into the former category. It was hard, and he wasn’t as flexible as some. But he needed to. He HAD to be sure, and if he finished his paperwork early and got some time to himself, he’d spend hours – it always took HOURS, because he was an Archangel and had six wings to contend with. He didn’t preen, in a real sense. He was looking. Combing through his feathers in search for any darker ones. And if he found one that was too dark, one he didn’t like… he pulled it.

Most sessions resulted in only a handful of feathers at a time – again, six wings.

Now, however…

Anytime he got stuck or his work stalled, Gabriel found himself going through his wings. Now, it didn’t matter if the feather was dark or light. It was just a matter of him finding or sensing something wrong with it.

And with these sessions, there came thoughts. Things muddling through his mind and pulling him into dark places he didn’t understand and couldn’t crawl back out of.

Lucifer had been right. The entire time, claiming Metatron was the true threat. Now, too addled or brain-damaged to remember the past, coasting through his existence with a temper he didn’t possess before. Broken, in a way. And Samael? Samael was dead. He had gone against Metatron and perished of his wounds in the Garden, which he strove to protect.

Crowley, who had cared for humans so fiercely, cherished them as angels were meant to, had merely asked why they needed to suffer. Had given them the sacred fruit, and thus the same free will angels – and demons – possessed. And Gabriel had cast him down himself to keep Michael and the other Archangels from tearing his wings off or beating him bloody as an example. He had smote his own brother. One whom used to look up to him.

Xaslem… He didn’t know how Xaslem could even stand to look at him, much less to be in the same room as him or speak to him. She had befriended him on first meeting. And in return? He had helped slaughter her people. Destroyed his fellow angels, all purely on Metatron’s word. Shot her in the back and caused her to Fall.

And Aziraphale… He’d been so cruel to the former Cherub. All because Aziraphale had the courage to befriend and love Crowley where Gabriel was too much a coward. Because deep down, Aziraphale had sensed something wasn’t right. That it wasn’t Her being tetchy. It was Metatron.

Now, Michael. Gabriel’s own sister had turned on him. Just as he had Satan and Crowley. She didn’t believe him enough to even hear him out.

Each stray thought was punctuated by a sharp pain that made him pale and made his wings hurt. But he couldn’t stop. If he just got rid of the bad feathers, better ones would grow in. Pale and soft. A reassurance that he was right. That he hadn’t Fallen. That the Almighty still cared.

He couldn’t stop pulling them.

\---------

Sarfael cried out as his back hit grass. He stumbled to his feet, backing away from the Fallen Virtue before glancing around. He had been walking down a sidewalk when a hand had pulled him into and alley, and now he was in the woods?!

His gaze focused sharply on Xaslem, who let out a feline growl like that of a tiger or leopard – he couldn’t tell the difference, but a big cat none the less.

“Hello, Sarfael.” Xaslem sneered, eyes glowing a bright emerald in the dark. “I heard you’ve been busy.”

“Could you be any more cliché?” He huffed, glaring. “You don’t scare me.”

Three seconds passed before she lunged with a roar. Sarfael was slammed into the ground. She heard his ribs crack. He wheezed and grimaced, pain obvious across his features. However, he instantly snapped back to attention when a clawed hand closed around one side of his head and pressed him into the dirt. He briefly clawed at her before his hands scrabbled over her wrist. He may have been taller than her, but she was stronger than the fallen Principality.

“I can break you, heal you, and break you all over again if that’s what it takes.” Xaslem snarled, Hellish Rebuke tinging the edge of her voice as plumes of mist wafted off her form. “You WILL talk.”

“W-Why do you care?! He’s just an angel! He’s the one who shot you down, even!”

She grabbed the index and middle fingers of one hand, and bent them back until they snapped. He screamed, and then sobbed, panting several deep breaths in. Xaslem leaned down over him, fangs and claws at full length and bared. It drew a whimper from the weaker demon, her claws leaving welts along his face and threatening to pierce his cheek and brow.

“What does your master want?” She rumbled over him.

“Rosier… Rosier called in favor with Barbatos!” Sarfael hiccupped, cringing away from her. “He wants Barbatos to kill Gabriel. Dead as a doornail.”

“How big of a favor?”

He didn’t answer right away, but when she reached for ring and pinky fingers, he choked out more words. “Barbatos’ mate, Araxiel! She almost died in her fall. Would’ve, if Rosier hadn’t healed her. He’s held it over Barbatos since before Eden burned!”

“And where is Barbatos right now?”

“Go burn at the stake, witch!”

With a snarl, she raised his head off the ground and slammed him down. It was clear the blow dazed him. Xaslem rested her knee on his chest, grabbed his wrist, and with one hard motion, wrenched his arm out of socket. Sarfael’s scream scattered birds for miles, and he weakly kneed her in the back. She wasn’t moved, grip tight and threatening to crush his radius and ulna.

“Where is he?!”

“He’s in Dis!” Sarfael sobbed, what little resolve he had now cracking. “He’s still trying to gather up a team who can take him on! He wants to strike while you’re busy and catch the Arch-Cherub unawares!”

“Any takers?” Xaslem glowered down at him.

“O-Only two, so far. Hakael and Madael.” The weaker demon croaked, not meeting her gaze. “He’s hard-pressed to find anyone willing to tangle with him. Or you.”

“Good.” Her grip eased slowly. “I’m going to heal you, and let you go. I suggest, for your sake, you not mention this meeting to Rosier.”

Sarfael nodded frantically, and whimpered as his wounds healed over, sharp pain of setting bones punctuated by soothing heat. He knew she was right. If Rosier found out he’d not only talked, but been healed up by her, the Fallen Dominion would murder him, consequences be damned. And Sarfael also knew he was so low on the totem pole that no one would give a shit if and when he disappeared.

“Get lost.” Xaslem pulled off him.

He sank into the ground, away from her.

\---------

A knock at the door made Gabriel freeze. A brief, sudden panic rose up in him, but he pushed it down. Xaslem had been adamant that no being, creature, or person intending harm could cross the barrier without being in excruciating pain. A second bout of knocking came.

Slowly, Gabriel stood, tucked his wings away, and made his way to the front door. He could sense a Celestial aura. While familiar, and he logically knew this one angel was at least somewhat trustworthy, he still hesitated a long moment before finally pulling the door open. And, just as he suspected, it was one he knew.

The angel was rather tall, six-five or six-six, with a narrow and lithe build and very fair skin. Looked like a human in his mid-thirties. His features were sharp-angled with high cheekbones and piercing emerald eyes. Shoulder-length raven hair was brushed back neatly. Cleanly shaven. Snug, thin, grey thermal shirt showing off the toned physique of his corporation. Dark jeans, polished black shoes, and a svelte olive-grey canvas jacket.

“Valasiel.” Gabriel muttered in greeting.

“Gabriel.” The Throne nodded to him, and frowned. “You look dreadful.”

He frowned.

“What—” His eyes flashed with a silvery glow, and he frowned at the scarring he saw. “Oh. I’m so sorry, old boy. I didn’t realize… I can leave, if you wish.”

“No. Now that you’re here… I could use a talk. Even if you only talk in circles.” Gabriel sighed heavily, stepping out of the house to stand with him on the porch despite the ache in his core feeling another Celestial’s aura caused.

“Are you well? You don’t feel like you’ve Fallen.”

“I didn’t. Michael… severed our tether. I only just started recovering. Xaslem states I was out for three days.”

“Mm. She’s a clever one. Aziraphale sometimes speaks of her.”

Gabriel arched a brow. “You talk to him often?”

“Not really. Once in a great while. More, recently. I’ve had to go to him for advice regarding… someone I’ve been seeing.”

“Not a human, I hope. You know what would happen.”

“No, no. I can’t stand associating with humans, even nicer ones. Watching them pass always breaks my heart. No, I’m afraid I’ve fallen in with you and Aziraphale.” Valasiel paused a moment before clarifying. “I’m seeing a demon. A Fallen Cherub. Prickly sort, but very pleasant.”

“Oh, Xaslem and I aren’t—”

“Aren’t together?” He smirked slightly and snickered. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Gabriel frowned.

“Anyways, I came to check on you. See how you’re doing. I may be a voluntary exile, but Excommunication is wholly different. Especially your situation.”

“I’ve been better. Sometimes I wish the Almighty would just smite me and be done with it.”

“That would be quicker, certainly.” Valasiel sighed, gazing out over the grassy fields beyond the house. “Is it truly a bad thing, what’s happened?”

“Depends on what day.”

“Mm. Well, I think all this is a good thing.”

“How?” Gabriel scoffed, looking over at him. “The Almighty vanished, I’ve been excommunicated and stuck rooming with a demon, and I imagine Heaven is rapidly approaching a civil war. Again. HOW is that good?”

“For one, you. Before all this mess, you were always so… Obtuse. Hollow. Not much personality. Now? Now, you’re growing as a person. You’re accepting the gift that is free will. You’ve been humbled, your eyes opened. Both very good things. I eagerly await to see who and what you become.”

“And if I Fall?”

“Then you Fall. What difference does that make? Would it really change anything? Besides the obvious.”

Gabriel considered that for a moment and looked over at him. “When did you turn into a sage?”

“Spending a few centuries as a monk in Tibet can do that to someone.” Valasiel chuckled softly. “Gives one a lot of time to think. Something I believe more of us need to start doing.”

As he opened his mouth to speak, he sensed a flicker of Hellish rebuke, and shouted in surprise as Valasiel was suddenly tackled from the side. The Throne was slammed into the front door, splitting the heavy ebony down the middle but not fully breaking it. Xaslem had him pinned, fangs bared, until she saw who it was. She immediately pulled back and started brushing the angel off.

“Fuck’s sake, I’m so sorry! I thought someone had gotten through the wards.” Xaslem babbled quickly.

“No harm done. I’m fine.” Valasiel gave her a reassuring smile, snapping his fingers to miracle the door repaired. “I had just enough time to brace.”

Forcing his corporation’s heart calm, Gabriel cast her a mild leer. “Was your ‘friend’ helpful?”

“Oh, yeah. He had plenty to say. None of it good.” Xaslem huffed, folding her arms and looking to the Throne again. “How was the date?”

“Hm?” Valasiel perked up. “Oh! Yes. It was marvelous. Thank you for suggesting the restaurant, by the way.”

“No problem. How’s Karazan?”

“Doing well. Still a bit skittish, but I have all the time in the world.”

“Mind you be careful with him.”

“I will be.” Valasiel stepped off the porch, paused, and turned. “It’s been a long time since I’ve last felt a warding spell his strong. I doubt I’d have been permitted to cross if I meant any harm. Very good. You should be proud.”

She arched a brow.

His gaze turned to his fellow angel. “Should you ever need my help, Gabriel, you’re free to ask. I’ll do all I can.”

“I appreciate it.” Gabriel nodded to him. “Thank you.”

In a swirl of shimmering light, Valasiel assumed the shape of a golden eagle, after his wings, and flew off to the horizon, where he disappeared among distant trees.

The Arch-Cherub sighed rubbing his brow as he leaned on the porch railing.

“You alright?” Xaslem asked, concern tinging her voice.

“No. And I doubt I will be anytime soon.” Gabriel muttered.

“At least your honest…” She frowned, guilt again nagging at her. “Here. Go inside and sit down. I have some tea that’s supposed to help with aches and pains.”

\---------


	20. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m not an expert in any way. The handling of the panic attack portrayed in this chapter was written after research. I apologize if this info is inaccurate. Be safe and smart out there.

Morning tea was spent in relative silence, the blinds open and allowing Xaslem to bask in the morning sun before finishing her tea and getting up to take the mug to the kitchen.

Pausing as she was about to walk back to the living room, Xaslem looked down and noticed a stray feather on the floor. A soft, purple, inner secondary covert feather. She bent down and picked it up, twirling it in her fingers, and then made her way to his office, where he sat working, hand-writing notes to fill the time.

“Molting?” Xaslem arched a brow his way.

“Hm?” A glance up at her turned into a double-take, and some odd emotion crossed his face. “Oh. … Yes. I didn’t think I needed to mention it, though.”

“You don’t, so long as you get rid of the feathers responsibly. We don’t need people thinking we murdered a couple geese. People call police for that sort of thing.” She shrugged, and left.

She didn’t get rid of the feather. It was a soft thing, a perfect and light pastel amethyst. Almost unfairly pretty. It was perfect in shape, too. Not as kempt as it should be, and too dry, but right as rain after she smoothed her fingers over it a few times.

Something bothered her, though. Nagged at her as she sat down in the living room.

He didn’t act like he was molting. Molts were itchy, damn near insufferable. It left people fidgety, restless, and snippy through the whole endeavor, and exhausted after the fact. Yet, he was at his desk, sorting through whatever new leads he had. Tense, and tired, but not like he was molting.

Frowning, Xaslem took a closer look at the feather. Sure enough, she saw a very tiny bit of skin clinging to the shaft. No blood, no. But skin. This feather hadn’t been ready to go.  
Something wasn’t right.

\---------

When the forecast called for storms, Xaslem could feel it. That dark, unnamable thing she could never place but was always there. Her hands shook as she cracked her knuckles and wrists.

The house creaked. She retreated to her build room and had music playing. Something loud and obnoxious. Her hands trembled as she tried to make a trapezohedron, only for it to fall from her hands and crash against the floor when the lights went out. Wind howled and the house creaked.

Her wings hurt. Her scars hurt. She could smell smoke. Frozen pellets and icy rain burned her skin. The noise was deafening. She tried to scream, but her voice got caught up in her throat. Thunder boomed hard enough to shake the windows and her wings unfurled of their own accord, arching above her in a defensive mantle with feathers ruffled.

In the kitchen, Gabriel was reading the instructions for the Keurig when the lights flickered, and went out. Along with every other electronic thing in the house. With a sigh, he tried to miracle them back on, only to wince at how it tugged on his Grace. A smaller miracle for a flashlight yielded nothing besides another pang of discomfort. He was still weakened, almost a week after the fact. Frowning, he moved to Xaslem’s side of the house.

She heard footsteps, but didn’t really register. The world around her was a fugue of noise and pain and anguish.

“Hey, Xaslem.” The door was pushed open. “Do you have any… candles…”

She was hugging her knees so close to her chest that she couldn’t breathe if she had wanted to. Her eyes were glassy and distant. No. Not him. He couldn’t see her like this. She couldn’t control her goddamn mouth when she was like this.

Gabriel glanced out the window, rain pelting the glass. The demon was trembling, her feathers making a shushing sound as they ruffled and rattled. He snapped his fingers, clearing away the broken mess of Legos before he strode closer to her, and knelt in front of her. She yowled, eyes finally looking up at him. She almost looked feral, in that instance.

“Hey, sweetheart…”

Xaslem hissed at the angel who had shot her down. Who had cast her to the Maelstrom like a piece of trash.

“Hey, now…”

Another yowl.

He wasn’t a hundred percent sure what to do. She was looking at him almost accusingly. He grit his teeth, lips pressed into a thin line as a faint spark of guilt skittered in his chest.

Knowing full well she could easily bite or scratch him, Gabriel reached out. She went rigid, and he tried to figure out how one held a cat, much less one that was in a human body. His hands secured under her arms and tugged her closer. She pushed at him frantically, shoving and pressing her knees against his hips.

“D-Don’t—I don’t—I can’t—” She was gulping for air her body shouldn’t have needed.

“Calm down.” Gabriel tried to keep his voice even.

“Get—Stop—Get off—STOP!” She kicked hard at his hip and he slid backwards a few feet, landing on his ass.

She couldn’t look at him. Didn’t want to. She curled in on herself, arms between her chest and her knees, hands up to cover her head. Her wings gave a single flap before cocooning herself.

“D-Don’t—I can’t… I can’t…” Xaslem hiccupped, and fell quiet, trembling.

Thunder rolled outside.

A pale glow filled the room. Xaslem didn’t have to look up to know he was now kneeling in front of her, his own wings spread. He didn’t reach for her. Didn’t touch her, this time. But his wings surrounded her like a protective wall of silver and lilac.

“Alright. No touching.” Gabriel kept his voice soft. “I’m sorr—”

“Shut up—SHUT UP!” She shouted, screamed, without lifting her head. “You did this! You’re the reason I’m like this!”

The outburst seemed to startle him, the angel nearly jumping.

“You’re not sorry! You’re never sorry!”

She fell silent, save for occasional hiccups or sobs. Gabriel stayed with her, staring, his wings still surrounding her. After a moment, he snapped as quietly as he could, calling his phone to his hand and opening a group text with Aziraphale and Crowley.

G: {Hey, it’s Gabriel. There’s something wrong with Xaslem and I don’t know what to do.}

C: {Define something wrong.}

G: {She’s sitting on the floor hugging her legs. Freaking out. Yelling. I tried holding her and calming her down, but it didn’t work.}

A: {She’s having a panic attack. Likely the storm. Some people don’t like to be held when having panic attacks.}

G: {So, what do I do?}

A: {I’m going to call you. Put the call on speaker so I can talk to her.}

C: {And pay attention to what he says and does, for later reference.}

After a moment, his phone buzzed. Gabriel answered it and put the call on speaker, so that Xaslem would hear.

[Xaslem, darling…] Aziraphale’s voice was quiet and soothing, laced with Grace and calm. [I want you to focus on your breathing for a bit. Can you do that for me?]

She nodded. He wasn’t there to see her, but she nodded.

[In… and out. In… and out.]

Xaslem homed in on his voice, her breaths shaking as she reigned them in and tried to calm down. Aziraphale continued coaching her on her breaths for a bit.

A text message popped onto the phone’s screen. C: {Smell and touch can help a little. Give her one of your feathers, or your tie or scarf.}

Another quiet snap, and the soft scarf of Egyptian cotton scarf fell into his hand. She wasn't looking at his wings, and he didn't want to draw attention to them. Slowly, he held it out to her. There was a long moment of hesitation before she reached out and pulled it closer. Soft. Very soft and smooth. Worn. Smelled like cologne. Faded from wear. Smelled nice. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers, holding the scarf closer, still sitting in an impossibly tight fetal position. Once her breaths had slowed, the angel continued.

[Very good.] Aziraphale murmured. [How many projects are in your office?]

She glanced around, counting, listing off her recent works in low, disjointed mutters.

[Good. You’re doing wonderfully, darling.]

Another text message came. C: {Just sit with her. Ask before touching her, but don’t pick her up and try to hold her.}

G: {Should I really stay? She seemed rather upset.}

C: {Bouts of anger and shouting are normal during these things. It’s fine. Just sit with her. If you talk with her, try to stick to simple questions. Now, set the phone down. Pay attention to her.}

Pursing his lips, he did so.

[Is it alright if Gabriel holds your hand, darling?] Aziraphale questioned.

After a moment, she nodded, one hand holding the scarf. A hand reached out to her, stopping short and not touching her without permission. After several hesitant starts and stops, she reached out. She didn’t hold hands, exactly. Instead, she touched. Felt along his skin. Felt his knuckles, rolling finger joints between her thumb and index finger. Soft… Of course, soft. All he did was paperwork. Soft. 

[Very good. You’re doing wonderfully, darling.] Aziraphale told her, still coaching gently.

\---------

The storm passed after about an hour. Gabriel had since folded his wings away, just as Xaslem had with hers. She was still shaking, but no more shouting came. Aziraphale and Crowley had hung up once certain all was well. Xaslem sniffled, free hand wiping at her eyes. She knew she was hideous right now. Crying and sniffing like a frightened child.

“I… I’m okay, now.” She muttered, trying to pull her hand away.

“I think you’re far from it.” Gabriel slid his hand up her arm to her shoulder. “Do you still not want me to touch you?”

Xaslem shrugged. When he gingerly pulled her closer, she didn’t fight, or hiss, or even yowl. Instead, she whimpered, turning her face to press her cheek to his chest. The angel picked her up and carried her into the living room, which had regained power in their time away. Instead of just setting her down, he sat with her.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry I…” She trailed off with a hiccup. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean what I said.”

“It wouldn’t matter if you meant it or not. It’s true.” Gabriel sighed, one arm around her and the other rubbing her shoulder.

A small sob left her and she pressed her face closer to his chest.

“Fuck, that’s not what I…” The angel held her a bit tighter. “Xaslem.”

She looked up, and sniffled as he rested her brow against hers.

“It’s alright. You’re safe. The storm’s over. And it’s okay. All’s forgiven.” Gabriel brushed some fresh tears away with his thumb. “Alright?”

Xaslem nodded. A tentative purr welled in her chest as she turned her head to nuzzle into his palm.

He cleared his throat. “Since… Since sleeping seems to make you feel better, maybe you can have a nap? I’ll stay right here with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m not making much headway, anyhow. Rest.”

Xaslem rested her brow against his collarbones. Closing her eyes, she heard his wings unfold and wrap around her. Felt the warmth of his Grace and his corporation. He sat back against the corner of the sofa’s back and arm, letting her rest against him. Within a few minutes, she had fallen asleep.

\---------


	21. Plucked

What followed didn’t feel like forgiveness. If Xaslem didn’t suspect he was caught up on himself, she might’ve suspected her words had hurt him deeply. Hell, she DID suspect it. They barely spoke, the following days.

She ended up finding a couple other feathers. One he’d missed, she guessed. It was easy to dispose of them with a quick flare of hellfire. But the tenseness in him wasn’t going away. And she didn’t like that gut sensation of dread his change in behavior inspired.

“You doing okay?” Xaslem questioned, peering over the back of the sofa.

Gabriel paused in his pacing. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“You just seem high-strung. I don’t think your molting, either. Are some of your feathers coming loose? I could help you preen, if you want.”

It took all his willpower to keep a straight face. He couldn’t risk her seeing the state of his wings. “No, that’s fine. I assume stress is just making a few slough off.”

The look in her eyes said it all. She didn’t believe a single word that had just come out of his mouth.

“I’m FINE.” He reiterated, voice suddenly low and stern.

Xaslem frowned, and forced herself to focus on the TV again. “If you say so.”

\---------

Her being worried didn’t help. If anything, knowing she was worried made it even worse. He winced, glancing back at his wings.

A sick feeling lurched in his stomach and he looked away. They were sore, but he folded them away, anyways. If she walked in on him, she’d know. And he’d never hear the end of it. He tried avoiding her. It didn’t do much, as she tried bringing him into her activities. She was still set on catering to his fading desire to understand humanity.

\---------

Xaslem was at a loss and tried bringing his stress down. Picked movies he seemed to like. Burned an ocean-scented candle. Didn’t cook anything too offensive-smelling. None of it helped.

Having no one else to go to for advice, she’d decided to go to her two closest friends, only telling Gabriel she had a couple errands. She imagined he wanted some time away from her, anyways, with how he kept avoiding her.

She found herself in the living room of Aziraphale’s flat, above the bookshop. Seated in one armchair while Aziraphale was in the other and Crowley was on the sofa. Having tea, together. Or, trying to. She didn’t drink much of it as she explained what was going on.

“You think he’s plucking, and you left him alone?!” Crowley hissed, brows furrowed. “You know how bad it can get!”

“I know!” Xaslem’s shoulders hunched. “But… I figured he was doing it because of me. He just needs some space.”

“Pardon, but what do you both mean by plucking?” Aziraphale questioned, glancing between them.

Crowley looked to his husband. “Some demons, when they get too stressed, will pull feathers out. Like birds with anxiety. They usually don’t even realize they’re doing it.”

“Oh good Lord…”

“When they pluck too much, they can’t grow feathers back fast enough, and the person starts pullin pinfeathers.”

“But that’s excruciating!”

“Like dislocating an arm, in my opinion. But that doesn’t stop them. And I’ve seen a few poor bastards who’ve discorporated themselves by anxiety plucking.”

Xaslem cut in sharply. “Look, I stopped finding feathers, and the ones I found didn’t have any blood on them. Granted, I dunno how or where he’s getting rid of them… But I figure if he’s upset with me, I could—”

“You need to go back. Keep an eye on him.” Crowley told her sharply, and sighed. “How long has he been at it?”

She looked away, popping her knuckles.

“Xas.”

“I found the first feather about a month ago…?”

Crowley paled, expression dark with worry. “Get your ass back to your house. Now.”

Nodding, she set her tea aside and stood. “I’ll, uh… call or text later.”

With a snap of her fingers, she was gone.

\---------

She dragged her feet. Stopped for a coffee and a couple macarons to calm her nerves, and grabbing a couple green tea macarons that he seemed to like. When she got back, she set them on the island counter, walking into the house.

“Gabriel?” Xaslem glanced around the living room. 

No answer came.

“Oi, pancake! I’m back and I figured we need to talk.”

Again, no reply.

Xaslem could sense something. She still wasn’t wholly attuned to his aura, mostly because she kept pushing it away. But this… It was profound. Something cold and sticky and painful like a dull knife. Even in the ether, she felt her feathers ruffle up in distress. She all but sprinted for Gabriel’s office.

Her breath caught when she pushed the door open. 

Gabriel was slumped over his desk, still in his chair. His wings were out, and all six were missing huge swaths of feathers, draping the floor and filling the room. Flesh was red and raw. Feathers still in were stained red with blood and flecked with gold from angelic ichor, the air smelling of copper and chamomile. Little piles of feathers rested on the floor, around him. Papers were askew. Cup of tea knocked over where he had fell against the desk – maybe catching himself so he didn’t end up in the floor.

She threw herself into the room, rushing up to him. His corporation’s pulse was weak, almost nonexistent, and his skin was frigid. Even so, he was still there, still corporated. That was better than nothing.

She healed the wounds in his wings as best she could, but the feathers wouldn’t come back until he actually DID molt. After, she got him to her room and laid him out on her bed, pulling blankets over him before sitting beside him. Her wings unfurled behind her, the glossy black appendages stretching wall to wall but not nearly as large as his own, which had to be kept hunched low and tucked inwards to keep from brushing the walls. Now, they draped off the sides of her bed, beautiful plumage torn apart. The patches of feathers still intact were tangled, layered with old shedding, and dry from lack of preening.

Xaslem felt sick in that moment as she fanned her wings a bit, her natural heat as a demon drifting on the air and starting to bring the temperature up. She could’ve just called Crowley and Aziraphale. Could’ve texted. She never should’ve left the uber-stressed idiot alone by himself when she knew damn well he was plucking. The notion made her hug her knees and rest her chin on them.

She wanted to be angry, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be angry at Gabriel. She’d known people who had plucked. They couldn’t really help it. A compulsion, or nagging sensation, that couldn’t be put to words. But once someone saw it, they couldn’t un-see it. After what happened to Ligur, Hastur was at his side 24/7 to keep Ligur from discorporating himself by plucking for the umpteenth time. She was one of the few people whom knew Satan himself plucked. Frequently. And his consort, Azazel, would have to see to him, so he didn’t overdo it.

No… Xaslem only blamed herself. Her desire to avoid confrontation and give him his space. To avoid talking about feelings. And if he discorporated and popped back up to heaven… she knew he’d be gone for good.

She didn’t want forgiveness. Not anymore.

\---------

It took hours before he showed any signs of life. His pulse came back first. Sluggish but strong. His temp started to rise back to normal. And his corporation started breathing. Xaslem always found it odd that breathing came back last much of the time, since that was the most obvious tell for humans.

It took even longer for him to come back to consciousness. By then, Xaslem had laid down wedged against his side, and spread her wings over him. She felt a twitch under her right wing – the one covering much of his body. Then, she heard a groan. Xaslem sat up, gazing down at him before bracing a hand on the bed by his shoulder and resting her other hand on his chest.

“Hey. You with me?”

Amethyst eyes slid open halfway and gazed up at her blearily.

“Hey.”

“What happened?”

She tilted her head down at him, brows arching upwards and eyes wide. “What happened? You nearly plucked yourself to discorporation, that’s what happened!”

He grimaced. “Not so loud, please.”

“… Headache?”

A nod was his only answer. There was a span of silence, wherein Xaslem moved to sit beside him and combed her fingers through his hair, mindful of her claws.

“Once you’re closer to 100%, we’re going to talk about this. About everything. Understand?”

“Yes” He sighed. “I understand.”

\---------

He was more than able to get up and walk to the living room within an hour or so of waking up. Xaslem considered making tea, but refrained.

The two of them were seated on the couch, with him slumped against the cushions and head on the back of the sofa. A migraine, if Xaslem had to guess. And she refused to miracle it away. Not yet, anyhow. She sat on her side of the couch, facing him with legs tucked up against her. They were quiet for a long while, before one of them finally broke the silence.

Gabriel turned his head to look at her. “Are you going to lecture me?”

“I dunno.” Xaslem muttered, hugging herself loosely and rubbing her arms. “I guess I’m more wondering what caused it. I thought if I took off a while, gave you some space…”

His brows furrowed, amethyst eyes softening. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you. Not like that, anyway.”

“Then what? You’ve been avoiding me, even after you said…” She murmured, voice soft. “You could’ve said something. The whole time, I thought it was me.”

“It wasn’t. And it wasn’t something you could assist me with.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Of course you do.”

“Just tell me what’s wrong.” Xaslem huffed, pouting at him. “Maybe I can help? I mean, if it’s really not my fault.”

Gabriel frowned at her. “Xaslem… You have to understand, I’ve been doing this sort of thing for millennia, now.”

Her eyes widened and she tilted her head as if she’d misheard him.

“Not to the extent where I lose consciousness. But after the war, and then Eden, there were rumors about slow-Fallers. Those who just slip under, their feathers turning dark before they realize it.”

She wanted to remark, but her voice got tangled up in her throat and she merely listened.

“Started as just checking. Then pulling ones that looked darker than usual. Then, somewhere along the line, it changed. Recently, though I’m not certain when.”

“And what caused this specific, near fatal outburst?”

He ground his teeth, looking away.

“Gabriel… Talk.”

“You honestly think talking would help?”

“No. But it can let me figure out how I COULD help.” She paused, before making a careful jab. “Pride’s a sin, Archangel.”

“Doubts.” He finally told her. “Just… many, many doubts.”

“Doubts about what?” Xaslem asked him.

“Everything.” Gabriel stared at her for a moment before swallowing thickly, the dam cracking. “I still think about it. The day you Fell. The way you looked at me. How angry you were. How… betrayed you looked.”

Xaslem said nothing, instead merely listening to him.

“I remember how betrayed Crowley looked, too, when he Fell. When I cast him down.”

“Why did you?”

“Michael was seething and I knew, I KNEW, she wouldn’t be kind about it. So, I volunteered. And I cast him down. Then, after helping destroy the Egregore, I shot you out of the sky.”

Her brows furrowed at the admission. She’d never considered his volunteering an act of mercy.

“When Metatron commanded Aziraphale be demoted from Cherub to Principality after helping Crowley at the Ark, Metatron intended for Uriel to be the one to carry the sentence out. But she was out for blood. She would’ve ripped him apart.”

“So, you volunteered?”

He nodded, swallowing hard, gaze falling. “Quick. As much surgical precision as I could muster. I never told Aziraphale. I decided I’d rather have him hate me. And then he started socializing with Crowley and I knew I should have mentioned it to Metatron, him being my superior, at the time…”

She frowned.

“I never did. Mention it, that is. And Aziraphale being unable to look at me without that hurt glint in his eye made it easier to take things out on him. He never fought back. I imagine, to protect Crowley because he didn’t know we were related, or assumed I’d stopped caring. And I imagine what Crowley thinks. That I’m a coward. And I would agree.”

Xaslem shifted a bit, her position turning more relaxed. Perhaps more open. “Then what?”

He shrugged. “Michael and I drifted apart. I decided to focus on my work. Maybe the Almighty would be merciful if I did well. Maybe things would change. If we did better, maybe things would get better, too. I faltered a few times… and I atoned each instance. But…”

“But things never got better.”

He rubbed his brow, taking a deep breath. “Then, the failed executions… Metatron insisted, and told me to carry the idea down to Beelzebub. I did. And this time, I wasn’t given a choice on what I got to do. I had to stay and oversee Aziraphale’s execution while Michael went down and delivered holy water to kill our youngest sibling.”

Her expression softened.

The dam broke, if only for a bit. “He wanted Aziraphale to face execution by cracking his angelic core. I don’t know how I managed to convince him to go with hellfire. Maybe his sense of ironic justice. And that mean Crowley had to face holy water.”

Xaslem pouted.

“And the last thing I would’ve said to Aziraphale, had it worked? ‘Shut your stupid mouth, and die already.’ That was what I chose to say. With a smile.” Gabriel muttered, frowning.

“You were angry—”

“That’s no excuse. … Then, I caught Metatron and Sandalphon conspiring. I crashed. Luci—… Satan, ended up being right, as usual. Before, I was so sure of it. Of the Plan. The War. And now? The only sibling I thought didn’t hate me then nearly kills me by severing our fraternal tether. I don’t like the questions this entire situation is makes me ask.”

“Gabriel.”

The Archangel looked over at her.

“Everyone asks those questions at some point. Even the most faithful creatures. There will always be those days.”

“How do you deal with it?” Gabriel questioned, voice quiet and slightly broken.

“I pretend God isn’t there.”

There was a brief pause before he looked over at her, brows knit and expression puzzled.

Xaslem shrugged, looking away. “I don’t ask for things. Anytime I pray, it’s never answered. My wishes are never fulfilled. And I’m not the only one who feels ignored most days. I trust my instincts. What I know is right. So… I pretend She isn’t there. And I find my own way.”

“How do you know what to do without guidance?”

“Because I’m secure in what I know is right from wrong. Because YOU know right from wrong.”

“Do I?” Gabriel questioned, voice weary as he tipped his head back to rest on the couch.

“You understand mercy, for one. You understand that your actions caused less pain than what could’ve happened.”

“You’re trying to spare my feelings.”

“Okay. You want me to be bitchy?” Her patience was thin, now, and tenuous. “Fine. You’re an ass. A condescending, oblivious dolt with too much enthusiasm. There. Happy?”

“Not particularly.”

“But… You’re loyal. You’re stubborn, and proud – both of which can be good things. And I remember you in the war. You were brave. And merciful. You still are. No holds bar, you devote yourself to your cause. Dedication. Discipline.”

The expression he cast her was flat, but somewhat relieved. “What would you suggest, then?”

“We could try talking more. Like, communicating better. Hell, maybe I could get more involved in helping you research, since you’re not getting anywhere on your own. We could try to find you some hobbies to relieve stress.”

“Do you honestly believe that would help?”

“It’s worth a try, okay?” Xaslem sighed heavily. “Gabriel…”

Amethyst eyes met her jade ones.

“You can’t go back. Only forward. And I’m sorry it took all this bullshit happening to you personally for you to get your head out of your ass. But the important thing is that it DID happen. That you’ve already changed a bit. People forgiving you, if such a thing happens, will happen on its own. The real challenge is… well… forgiving yourself.”

Gabriel stared at her. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he was caught in the line of those jade orbs and he couldn’t look away. There was no temptation or magic in her gaze. Only… a strange level of sincerity he hadn’t seen since they had first met, before she Fell. After a long moment, he sighed, and nodded.

“I want you to promise me something.” Xaslem said, scooting a touch closer. “I want you to promise me you won’t pluck again. If you discorporate and end up back in Heaven…”

He’d die. Yes. He knew. “I’ll do my upmost. I promise.”

She held out a pinky finger. After a moment, he rolled his eyes and pinky-swore with her.

\---------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literally the slowest-paced story I have ever written. Don’t worry! Gabriel will be more in-character as the fic goes on. Or, my idea of in-character. Again, his appearances are brief and I feel I have a little wiggle-room, but the plot of this fucking story keeps making him seem off, to me. I’m really trying, guys… T-T


	22. On the Prowl

A philospher and a heretic walk into a diner… It sounded like the start of a really bad joke, and Barbatos hated it. He was sure Hakael hated it, as well, but didn’t ask, and used a quiet miracle to turn people’s attention away from them – people tended to stare when someone in a zoot-suit and a guy in a Russian trenchcoat and fur hat walked around, especially together.

They picked a booth and sat down. Ordered coffee. Waited until said coffee arrived. 

Then, Hakael let out a deep, rumbling growl. “She’s with him 24/7. And she put a fucking barrier of whatsit down around the house.”

“Rosier’s getting impatient.” Barbatos bounced a knee beneath the table.

“I’m not attacking without a plan. Her I can handle. We were both Virtues. But he’s a bloody CHERUB.”

“Any backers?”

“A few. Forming a little team.”

He hummed, sipping his coffee. “She named herself his guardian. Remember… Egregore are more powerful when they have a charge beneath them.”

Hakael grunted with a sneer.

“What’s this team of yours made up of?”

“So far? A Dominion, a Throne, three Powers, two Virtues – counting myself – and a Cherub.”

Barbatos snorted into his coffee mug, attempting to hide his disbelief.

“Can you do better?” Hakael leered at him. “Since Satan gave the order, no one wants to try, for all their bitching. Most are pretending it’s all business as usual. And if Beelzebub catches us—”

“Let ME worry about that. You can’t hold your tongue for anything, much less talk HIM down from a tiff.”

“I need an opportunity.”

“So MAKE one, you idiot. … I’ll work on finding you a few more powerful takers. But we need to move fast. I have Sarfael watching the house. He’ll let us know when any opportunity arises.”

Hakael considered for a long moment before grinning. “I have an idea.”

“Oh? That’s new.” Barbatos drawled.

“Shut it. … I could have one of my lot be bait. Go up, knock on the barrier, draw her off. Then, we all hit the house at once.”

“That… COULD work, I suppose. The timing will have to be right. And all at once. Remember that. A couple of you might end up eatin it anyways.”

“Leave that to me.”

\---------

“C’mon. One movie.” Xaslem said where she knelt on the couch, arms folded over the back as she watched Gabriel pace.

“I’m still going over the sections you highlighted last night.” He muttered, and frowned. “How is any of this helpful?”

“First of all, think outside the box. If you were playing chess, how would you use what I highlighted? I thought it was pertinent. Second of all, you need a break. Mets and his idiots haven’t made any moves. Just an hour or two.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

He halted, gazing at her. His micro-expressions flickered between painful recollection and sinking unease.

“The word ‘pass’ applies to you, too, y’know.”

“I thought you wanted to talk more.”

“At your own pace. I’m not going to spill my entire past, and you shouldn’t have to, either. The limit’s still there.”

Gabriel warred with himself for several moments before heaving a sigh and moving around the sofa to sit on his end of it.

She turned to face him, watching and waiting.

“I’ve only ever seen one movie. Partly because of the consequences.” He hesitated a moment. “Michael made it very clear that such human pastimes were… straying from the path. Heresy.”

“They… punished you? For watching a movie? What was it?”

“The Sound of Music.”

Confusion flashed across her features. “It’s a fucking movie about a group of Christians triumphing over literally the most demonic human beings in history!”

“I’m aware.”

Xaslem pouted. “What… What did she do to you?”

His gaze grew distant. Glassy. Pointed ahead but not focusing on anything. “Pass.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. I think it’s one of those things I just need to overcome at some point. Like tea.” He blinked, and looked over at her. “What sorts of movies do you have?”

She opened her mouth to answer, only for a soft gasp to cut her words off. She tensed, feeling someone trying to cross the barrier. Someone with ill intentions. She slid off the couch and prowled to the patio door. At the edge of the barrier, in the dark of the night, she spied a figure. A demon, from the aura.

“Xaslem?” Gabriel stood, summoning a sword to his hand.

“Stay here.” Her voice was tinged with Hellish Rebuke as she stepped outside, all but melting into the night.

\---------

Sarfael was… well, terrified. He didn’t WANT to be the bait. Especially not where Xaslem was concerned. He had seen her annoyed. He didn’t want to see her pissed.

But he was going to get to see it, either way.

The second he set foot across the barrier, searing pain shot up his leg. Just as bad as stepping on consecrated ground. Burning hot iron pins and needles pain. Hissing, he jolted back, cursing and limping in a circle, stifling the urge to stream.

He heard a door open.

He’d been noticed.

Survival instinct kicked in. Sarfael turned and sprinted. Rushing across the field to the woods beyond. If he could lose her in the trees, he could take off. Could fly away and never see her again—

He glanced over his shoulder. Mistake. Glowing green eyes. Fangs glinting.

Screams tore through the woods. Birds scattered with alarmed cries. The demons creeping toward the house froze. Hakael included. He motioned for the others to move in, toward the cottage.

The ripple of a miracle washed over the party. Where they had been just at the tree line, the woods now seemed endless… and Hakael had no clue where he was. He tensed, glancing around. His gaze whipped to the side as a bloodcurdling shriek sounded. Screaming. Just… screaming.

He was beginning to realize his mistake. Sarfael had moved too soon. Xaslem had responded too fast. The field… He needed to get to the field!

Heavy footfalls thudded as he made a mad dash. Ran as fast as his corporation could go. He heard more screams. To one side. Then the other. Then behind. One by one, his comrades were being picked off.

From the patio door, Gabriel watched, and listened. He saw a demon in a heavy coat and fur had break free of the tree line. Said demon stumbled, glanced around, and then, spotted him. He began marching toward the house. Glaring, Gabriel called a longsword into his hand, but remembered Xaslem’s words. He didn’t know why he had to stay back, but he trusted her enough to wait and ask.

A shape broke free of the tree-line.

Hakael turned. He barely dodged the pounce, cursing. With a whirl of smoke, he assumed his own bestial shape. A badger, the size of a polar bear. The sabertooth-sized panther snarled.

The two demons circled one another. Roaring in each other’s faces like a pair of grizzly bears. Grass rippled around them in waves. Their combined scents, charcoal and wood smoke, made the field smell like a wildfire.

He wanted to retreat. But he couldn’t. She was faster. On the ground, and flying. But he wouldn’t be discorporated without a fight.

Xaslem lunged. Hakael howled out as her maw snapped shut on his left haunch. He whirled. Snapping and snarling. But she merely followed, moving aside. She shook her head. Teeth sawing into flesh. Blood pattered against grass. Perfuming the air.

From where he stood, Gabriel saw only a little. Flashes of fur. Movement. Saw a shapeshifted demon stand upright and swiped a huge, clawed paw. Then, saw that demon fall. Heard howling shrieks. And then, abrupt silence. A moist crunch.

When he saw Xaslem, again in human form, stand from the grass and walk back toward the house, Gabriel saw she was splattered and smeared with crimson. Her mouth, her claws… Pupils were blown wide as she panted softly. He stepped out of the house and down the deck’s steps, just as she hopped the six-foot privacy fence.

“I told you to stay inside.” Xaslem muttered.

“Are you alright?” Gabriel questioned.

“I’m fine. Go back—”

“Why did you tell me to wait behind?”

“If you haven’t deduced it already, they were here to try and kill you, pancake.” She wiped her mouth absently on her fingers, before turning to spit, and gaze across the field. “Dammit… I should’ve listened to Karazan.”

“Listened to…?”

“He warned me they were up to something. S’why I put the barrier down.”

A small miracle vanished his sword, but not the sudden wave of outrage. “And you didn’t think that was something I needed to know?!”

Xaslem turned, eyes wide before leering at him. “And what would you have done? You would’ve run headfirst into danger! Do you know how many people he had out there?!”

“I am an Archangel, and a Cherub!” His voice rose a touch.

“And that doesn’t mean SHIT if you’re outnumbered twenty-seven to one!” Her own voice rose to match. “I’m supposed to keep your sorry ass alive!”

“Keeping me out of the loop doesn’t help! If they’d gotten past you, I’d have no idea what I was up against! We’d be even worse off!”

“You wouldn’t be able to help, anyways! It’s not like you know how to actually fight one of us!”

“I fought in the War!”

“And that was before Earth was even created! Shit changes! You’ve been in a cushy office ever since! Let me do my fucking job!” Xaslem shouldered past him, wanting a shower and space away from him.

“You said we’d talk more!” Gabriel snapped as she walked up the porch steps.

She ignored him.

Gritting his teeth, he snapped. “I guess that’s what I get for trusting a demon.”

Her hand froze on the door handle. She didn’t turn. Didn’t look at him. Instead, she pulled the door open and stepped inside, choosing to ignore the comment… no matter how much it stung. 

\---------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When someone knows what to say, so it hurts... IDK.


	23. Dominoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternative Title: “Hakael’s No Good, Very Bad Night.”

Sarfael was past trying to figure out where he was. One eye swollen, the other running red with blood, he could barely see at all, relying on his hearing and sense of smell.

He smelled food. Lots of food. Maybe he was in Gluttony. It wasn’t loud enough or warm enough to be Dis. Sniffling and stumbling, he paused to listen. Listening for the group. He hoped he had lost them. He was very close to actually PRAYING he had lost them. Blindly, he followed the smell and felt along the walls. Yes… he knew this place.

The Fallen Principality halted when he spotted the silhouette of huge black doors. An intricate archway and gleaming knockers. He smelled a banquet. Smelled wine and heard chattering of half-full mouths. Meaningless conversation. Hands trembling as he heard shouting around the corner, he scrambled to find the knocker. He found one, heavy metal cold against his palm. He knocked. Loud and hard, sobbing under his breath.

The door opened and Sarfael cried out as he fell inwards.

“What the fuck?” A gruff voice huffed.

He shrieked as he was hauled up by his hair, dragged down an entirely too-long room, and shoved. Sarfael sprawled over the floor. Blinking hard, forcing his eyes to work, he gazed up. He was staring at a solid ebony throne with violet velvet cushions, and a figure seated upon it.

He had expected someone corpulent. The slavering hound that could never be sated, as described by the poet, Dante.

What he saw was a tall figure, narrow but a touch broad in the shoulders. Angular and sharp with glimmering gold eyes that were unmistakably canine, glinting onyx in the right light. Black hair was done in a fade, the longer locks curly, the color stark against pale olive flesh. His face was scruffy, loosely trimmed into a goatee.

There were two rings on his right hand. One on his index finger, one on his ring finger. Indigo button-up shirt, black paisley vest, dark jeans, black leather belt, and slate-colored suede sneakers. A fleece-lined suede coat had been removed and hung on the back of his throne. With his sleeves rolled up, one could see pale flesh and bluish veins just under the skin, as well as tattoos around both wrists. Tattoos of shackles.

Cerberus regarded the poor creature before him, and frowned. “That’s not a proper way to treat guests, Azkeel.”

The figure who had dragged and thrown him stepped away with a muttered apology.

The Duke of Gluttony stood and descended the dais before sitting on his haunches in front of the battered, shorter demon. “You’re Rosier’s little helper, aren’t you.”

“W-Was, sir.” Sarfael sniffled, shivering.

“What happened?”

“I… I was to watch Gabriel and Xaslem. To help Barbatos find a way to kill the angel. I w-was told to help Hakael. But… Hakael and his followers were discorporated and they…”

“They blamed you.”

He nodded, hugging himself round the middle, holding pressure on the stab-wounds there. “So did Rosier, sir.”

“What circle are you from?” Cerberus asked.

“This one, sir. But I… I fell in with Rosier a long time ago. When your predecessor was in charge.”

He hummed at this answer.

“Please… I’ll do anything. Please.”

Cerberus frowned, wings unfurling and gently cocooning the shorter demon. “Hush. This is your circle. I will make you a member of the Order of Fangs. You will be under my protection.”

Sarfael sobbed in relief. In quiet anguish. A small whimper left him as the Duke’s cool, calloused hands gently brushed across his face, mindful of his wounds.

The Duke gazed up. “Jetrel.”

The demon in question stepped forward. “Yes, lord?”

“Inform Arachne that Hakael has gone against his and Satan’s orders, and attempted to attack Gabriel and Xaslem. I believe he’ll find the news most intriguing.”

She nodded and saw herself out.

“The rest of you, as you were. I’ll see to this one personally.” Cerberus coaxed the smaller demon up and led him away. “Come, Sarfael. Let’s see about these injuries.”

\---------

Arachne didn’t like having his personal affairs interrupted on the best of days. LEAST of all when he was in bed trying to shower his mate in kisses. He only pulled away from Raum when the knocking persisted, and he intended to rip the person a new one. However, he found it was one of Cerberus’ servants, he stilled his hand, heard her out, and nearly flew into a rage.

Thus, leading to the now. In his penthouse in the lower portions of Dis. He had no throne, but the Earl had a comfortable, oversized armchair he gladly shared with his mate. As they waited for Hakael to answer his summons, Arachne brooded, claws scraping the tough canvas surface, legs splayed wide and comfortable. Raum was nestled against his side, having a cup of tea to help himself wake up more, legs crossed daintily.

Soon, the doors swung open, and were pulled closed behind Hakael. The Fallen Virtue was pale, aware he had been caught but also aware it would be worse for him if he ran. Other members of the Order of Webs loitered at the edges of the great room. One could’ve mistaken Arachne for a proper Duke, if they didn’t know better.

Arachne’s face was cool and impassive. Raum’s expression was more one of intrigued distaste as he sat primly beside the Earl, his mate, with legs crossed and tea and saucer in hand. Neither expressions were comforting. At least if Arachne were yelling, Hakael might’ve believed he was in a better mood. Instead, he was surrounded by sturdy antique furniture and uncaring silence.

The Earl of Heresy bore ashen skin and solid black eyes, though dull slate irises could be seen. His hair was jetty, inky black, done in a fade. His face was thin, and cleanly shaven. The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up, showing off wicked claws and arms covered by flexible, glossy chitin. His clothes were not quite elegant or formal. More gauzy and like something one would see at a cyberpunk convention, grey and cream tones even down to his boots.

Raum’s corporation was a touch shorter than Arachne’s, and more lithe. More of a courier’s build than a fighter’s, with narrow shoulders and skinny hips. His face bore a long, pale scar that ran from the right corner of his jaw, diagonal up over his right eye, and forking to make a V over the right side of his brow. The right eye was completely white, the flesh around it unable to move, save for blinking. There was a smaller scar halfway straight up his cheek from his upper lip, beside his nose. Scars from pushing Raziel to Earth during their Fall together, saving his brother but further damning himself in the process.

His hair was wavy, medium cut. A chocolate brown color with pale cream around the right expanse of his hairline, around the scarring. Clean shaven face, save for a triangular soul-patch on his chin. His intact eye was a pale sapphire tone, and beneath the outer corner of it was a small, dark beauty-mark. Fitting, given high cheekbones and sharp features, the small gold loop earrings he wore glinting bright. He wore a plain, thick, white button-up shirt that had coattails, over which was a plain red vest and a maroon, fleece-lined coat. Black slacks, and sneakers.

“Hakael… I do believe Satan’s orders were explicitly clear.” Arachne’s voice jittered and trilled, lower jaw parting into mandibles as he spoke. “As were my own.”

He swallowed hard.

“Instead, you chose to defy both. You chose to follow Rosier on his idiotic agenda. Then, my morning is interrupted because Cerberus sent word regarding Sarfael. You’re aware Sarfael is a demon of Gluttony. Thus under Cerberus’ charge.”

“What about him?” Hakael muttered.

“You attacked the demon Sarfael for your own incompetence. Outnumbering him, and a weak little Fallen Principality at that… That’s just in poor taste.”

Raum chortled to himself at the accidental pun, smiling into his tea.

Arachne ignored it, gaze still fixed on his underling.

“Oh, come on!” Hakael sneered, tense all over. “You can’t honestly believe any of the shit the angel says! He’s a liar! All angels are!”

“That angel confirmed what Satan and Samael already knew. Confirmed why we went to war and Fell. And with Xaslem’s help, is working on fixing or at least avenging that issue. Are you lot really so selfish that you’d interfere?”

“Rosier certainly is.” Raum supplied, glancing at his mate. “I suspect this is all one of his stunts to get at Xaslem.”

“Quite right, luv. I believe it is.”

Hakael glared, patience fraying. “You believe anything that stupid birdbrain says.”

The room went deathly silent. Several of the loitering followers moved away, giving their master a wider berth.

“I can’t believe you’re falling for it. Xaslem’s a traitor, like Crawley. Canoodling with angels the way they do.”

“WHAT… did you just call him?” Arachne chirred.

Hakael’s brain finally caught up with his mouth and he shivered, going so pale he was lightheaded. “Uh… I… Um…”

Raum smirked, expression silently reminding Hakael that he could very easily mollify Arachne’s temper. Only, considering the context, he refused, instead quietly fixing himself a second cup of tea. The Earl of Heresy rose from his seat. Eight iridescent black wings unfolded behind him, followed by several pairs of spider legs and a long, stinger-tipped tail.

“I think I need to remind you of your place, Hakael.” Arachne’s voice was nearly devolved into nothing but clicks and chitters. “Beneath both me… and our lord.”

\---------


	24. Sickened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING - Mention of cannibalism? Unintentional cannibalism? IDK how to label this but the warning's there. Very brief mention, not a lot of detail, but warning remains. Cannibalism.

They didn’t speak for two days.

It ate at Gabriel more than he’d like to admit. It was quiet in the house. No idle chitchat or her razzing him, no quiet encouragement to take a break for tea or coffee, no movies or TV playing mindlessly in the background. There was just a numbing silence.

It broke on the third day when a knock came. Remembering how Xaslem’s wards worked, he decided to take the reprieve and answer the door. A demon stood on the doorstep. One he didn’t recognize, but he could deduce well enough from his presence and his lack of modesty at the uninvited visit.

“Karazan, right?” Gabriel sighed.

“Indeed.” The stout, no-nonsense demon intoned, looking him over. “May I come in? I have some pertinent information for our mutual acquaintance.”

“Good luck with that.” He stepped aside to allow him in.

“Why? Where is she?”

“In her room, from her aura.”

“Have a bit of a tiff, eh?”

Sighing, he looked away, part annoyed and part exasperated.

“That answers that, then. Dare I ask what about?”

“She kept me out of the loop.” Gabriel muttered, moving to walk away.

“Of course she did.”

He froze on the spot, by the partition wall between dining and living, and turned to peer at the demon.

“Oh, come now. You know full well what you’d have done. We Cherubs have a terrible habit of running head-first into confrontations or perceived threats. And, skilled as you might be… Everyone has limits.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Then what would you have done, hm? Sit idly on your hands like a good boy while your guardian demon hurries off to fight your battles for you?”

Gabriel stiffened, jaw tightening.

“I thought not.” Karazan turned away, moving for Xaslem’s room. “That doesn’t leave her many options in ways of keeping you out of trouble."

Something about the fact the Incubus knew where Xaslem’s room was, and marched up to it like he belonged there, made a flicker of angry – no, JEALOUS – heat sputter in Gabriel’s chest. He didn’t like it. The feeling or the situation. He followed the Incubus, who knocked on the closed bedroom door.

“Xaslem, it’s me. I have some news for you.” Karazan stated, hand falling to the doorknob.

“It’s—” Her voice was interrupted by a retching sound, and a few coughs. Then a pause. “It’s unlocked.”

He let himself in, and his brows furrowed sharply when he saw the state of the Succubus. Xaslem was lying on her side, near the edge of the bed, a plastic bowl on the nightstand. She was pale. Well, more so than usual. And she looked absolutely miserable, bundled under a comforter with her cheek on the mattress and feet, clad in fuzzy socks, sticking out because the comforter was set at an odd angle. Rumpled from restlessness. Her room was completely dark, and she hissed and covered her head when light from the doorway reached her face. Gabriel stood in the doorway beside Karazan, staring in surprise, near shock.

“Oh dear…” Karazan couldn’t help the flicker of worry that crossed his features.

“Shut up.” She muttered.

“Well… Ate someone, did we? I thought you knew—”

“I SAID shut up.”

Sighing, he shook his head and moved on. “After you wholloped Hakael and his lot, Sarfael took the brunt of it. Fled Rosier and is now with Cerberus. And Hakael spoke out of turn to Arachne and ended up rather painfully and comically discorporated. Stuck wading through paperwork for his new body.”

Xaslem grumbled.

“It seems your nemesis is short on hands, now, without them. He should leave you alone. For a little while, at least.”

“Good.”

“Do you need anything?”

“To stop throwing up would be great.”

“Well, nothing I can do about that, I’m afraid.” Karazan sighed. “Just wanted to bring you the update. Do try to feel better soon.”

Gabriel stepped out of the way, watching as the Incubus saw himself out. Then, the Archangel stared at Xaslem. “You… ate someone?”

“When you kill someone while in animal form, you inevitably end up swallowing blood or small body parts you manage to bite off. Hence…” Xaslem pushed the blankets aside and hovered over the bowl as if ready to retch. When nothing happened, she laid back down. “Either come in or shut the door. Pick one.”

He chose the former, stepping to her bed and sitting by her feet. “He spoke of Rosier like you two know one another.”

Xaslem pouted. “Because we do. Kinda.”

“Kind of?” Gabriel frowned at her.

“It was a long time ago.”

“Not long enough, if he’s still stalking you.”

She glared halfheartedly at him, giving the barest hint of fang. “Don’t use that word. I’m not some helpless maiden.”

“I never said you were.” Gabriel’s brows furrowed, eyes a dull amethyst as he stared at her like a confused puppy.

After a moment, the demon heaved a sigh. “I don’t remember the exact year. But it was when the court of Camelot was a huge deal. The Knights of the Round Table and such. Crowley was busy elsewhere at the time, so Rosier and I were sent up on a joint temptation.”

He listened intently, watching her push her bangs from her face.

“We were supposed to disgrace Arthur’s nephew, Gawain, to destabilize the political climate. Have you read or heard the story Sir Gawain and the Green Knight?”

“Yes. Aziraphale was given a commendation for thwarting a demonic plot in that regard.”

“Good. … Rosier played the role of the Green Knight, Bertilak de Hautdesert. I played the part of his wife.” Xaslem told him, frowning, resting her chin on her knees. “And Rosier got… attached. Obsessed, even.”

A flicker of both jealousy and protectiveness rattled somewhere inside him.

“Showering me with meaningless presents, writing poems, uninvited touches… I wouldn’t mind if it was sincere, if it was genuine affection, but… None of it meant anything. I didn’t see love in him. I sensed greed. But that’s why he Fell. He’s a demon of Greed.”

“You don’t exactly scream Lust, and Crowley doesn’t exactly scream Heresy.”

“You’d understand if you met him.” She muttered, staring ahead at the wall, eyes bright and vivid as a shiver wracked her shoulders.

“What was his name, before he Fell? Do you know?”

“Yaqum. Formerly an Egregore Dominion.” Xaslem smacked her lips at the foul taste of the broken Celestial name. “I didn’t want Gawain to die. He was… nice. A very pleasant young man. Bright-spirited. Kind. Sunny-dispositioned. So, I botched the assignment. I gave him the belt that kept him from dying.”

“What came of it? I know of Gawain’s end, but not yours.”

“We were punished for failing. Me more so than him since I did it on purpose. Asmodeus was kind about it, though. I was flogged until I bled out and discorporated. But… Valefor, the Duke of Greed, wanted…”

His brows furrowed as he watched her shiver and swallow hard, the demon rubbing at her scarred forearms.

“He said any Lust demon should know their place. He demanded I be forced to… service… either him or Rosier, to repay the loss. Beelzebub had to step in and ruled it was Asmodeus who had the final say, as it was his jurisdiction. Valefor threatened to take it to Satan himself, but never did.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

“I wouldn’t expect you to know.” Xaslem shrugged, looking over at him. “Valefor gave up on it. He’s always had a short attention span. But Rosier never let it go. Says I owe him. That I’m his soulmate. His property. And whatever else ridiculous thing he’s in the mood to say at any given time.”

“And Beelzebub can’t do anything further?” Gabriel questioned.

“No. Short of permanently killing each other, most things are fair game. He could come up and… do whatever he pleased to me. And no one could or would do a damn thing about—”

“I’d kill him.”

Xaslem paused, and looked over at him. The Archangel’s eyes were a bright, faintly glowing lilac hue, the air around him near humming with static. Divine Fury thrummed through his aura in little waves and, for the first time in a long while, she felt – honest-to-someone – completely safe. She watched him with a tired eye, her expression blank.

“I’m sorry. For what I said.” Gabriel muttered, pouting.

“Why?” She frowned. “S’ true.”

“No, it isn’t. You’ve helped me more these past few weeks than anyone has my whole existence. Being a demon doesn’t make you untrustworthy. And it’s my fault you’re a demon, besides, not fault of sin. What I said was… Weak. Unbecoming.”

“Wow. You can apologize, after all.”

While she was tired and out of sorts, her usual sarcasm made him muster a small smile.

“For what it’s worth… I’m sorry, too. I probably should’ve told you.”

“You were right not to.”

“Even so.” Xaslem shrugged. “From now on, I’ll tell you what I know when something comes up. Fair?”

“Fair.” Gabriel nodded, and paused. “Need anything?”

“Could I convince you to make me an unsweetened cup of hot tea?”

“What kind? I’ve seen the cabinet. You have enough tea to supply a whole store.”

She snorted, nodding. “There’s a green tin labeled Matcha and Mint. Then find the blue reusable Keurig cup, fill it halfway with loose-leaf, put it in, and hit the medium cup button. No cream, no sugar.”

\---------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: To her immense relief, he was very good at following directions and brought her a perfect cup of unsweetened tea.


	25. Preening

It took a couple days for her to feel better. For the nausea to go away so she could eat some real food. The first thing she got was a triple-cheeseburger from McDonalds, staying out of the house long enough to eat it. Part because it was a guilty pleasure – she had chef-level skills and miracles behind her – and part because she knew the scent of fast food made Gabriel sick.

Calm had come. Except for the fact that now, he actually WAS molting. Xaslem could tell, too, and she guessed he was absolutely miserable. Granted, he was trying to work through it, going through papers on the sofa while she sat watching a movie – and he pretended not to pay attention to it. He would shift restlessly and rub his shoulders against the back of the couch. She couldn’t imagine having to molt with SIX wings. Sounded like, well… Hell, for lack of better euphemisms.

“Would you like some help?” Xaslem arched a brow at him.

Gabriel looked over at her. “Help with what?”

“Your wings. If they’re itching so bad, I could preen them for you.”

His cheeks flushed a bit. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” She stood and stretched. “I’ll set up some glamor in the backyard. C’mon.”

For a long moment, he hesitated, but inevitably followed her. When he got outside, he could sense the glamor blanketing the yard inside the fence, and he saw her standing beside a rather soft, comfortable-looking ottoman.

Pouting, he strode across the soft grass and sat down. Xaslem watched as six pale, pretty wings unfurled from the ether. They could, quite literally, fill up a room. She knew from experience. It would be easier out here, in an open space, out on the patio. His feathers were a mess, but not… TOO bad, considering she’d seen far worse. She snickered to herself.

“Is something funny?” Gabriel muttered.

“You look like an unmade bed.” Xaslem strode behind him, and smiled. “Your new feathers are coming in nicely. All soft and pale.”

He shivered as her hands ran across his uppermost pair.

“Sensitive?”

“Yes. I don’t preen as often as I probably should. More just…”

“Used to a mean touch instead of gentle?”

Gabriel nodded, leaning to rest his elbows on his knees, allowing her full access to his wings.

“Let me know if my claws hurt and I’ll try to adjust.”

A shiver coursed through him as her hands found his upper-left wing, starting by the joint where it met his back and combing her fingers through the plumage. She dislodged old shed and fluff first, before reaching for the gland on the underside of the wing just by where it met his back, gathering a bit of oil. She smoothed his feathers down, combing them neatly into place, making sure they all ran the right way and there weren’t any breaks.

Touching an angel’s wings… Before she Fell, she didn’t think much of it. Preening one another among the Egregore was quite common, especially among friends. Before, it was just a textile matter. Silky, plush feathers that no mundane creature possessed. After her Fall, she found most demons were sensitive about their wings, if they still had them. Most preened for themselves, using various brushes such as long-handled shower brushes, unless they were flexible like her.

Now, touching angel wings was different. It wasn’t just touch. It was a sensation. There was some stray static from his Grace, his Divine Fury – electric as he was – but it didn’t hurt like getting a shock from a shopping cart or a car door. It felt almost nice. Warm yet cool. A soothing sensation that reminded her of when she had made clouds and spent days in the misty waterfalls around Eden. She rather enjoyed feeling that, him, under her hands.

Stroking the skin where new feathers had grown in since the plucking incident made him stifle a sound into the back of his hand. So, he wasn’t just a tender-wing. Having someone preen him got him wound up. She tucked than information away for later, though she couldn’t say why. She doubted she’d get to use it.

She went wing by wing. By the end of it, she was standing in a knee-deep mound of shed feathers and down, her hands soft and smelling pleasantly of him. He was tense, and even from behind, she could see he was flushed all the way up to his ears. With a chuckle, Xaslem leaned against his back and kissed the back of his head.

“Done. And they look rather handsome.” She informed him. “Like the rest of you.”

Gabriel willed himself to calm. His wings felt hypersensitive, even a little breeze feeling like her fingers, reminding him of her touch. Swallowing hard, he stretched his wings, giving a single testing flap. Xaslem watched in silence. Each pair of wings was easily twice the span of her own, if not more. Large and strong. Then again, Archangel was a title. He was first, and foremost, a Cherub.

He cleared his throat. “Would you like me to return the favor?”

“Hm?” She glanced behind herself at the empty space where her wings would be. “Yeah. I haven’t preened in a couple weeks. And I think it’d feel nice to have someone else do it. Less contortionism involved.”

Gabriel stood. A snap of his fingers had the shed feathers vanished.

“Where did you send them? Just curious.”

“A pillow factory off in Brussels.” He muttered, frowning. “I tried burning them, once, but it feels… wrong.”

“Understandable.” Xaslem seated herself.

In silence, he watched her wings unfurl from the ether. They were shaped differently than his own, more sleek and clever-looking. And in the light of the midmorning sun, he could make out patterns. A sparrow hawk’s wings. Suddenly, her abilities with flight made so much more sense.

They were so well-groomed that some part of him felt a sense of shame at the state of his own wings. The main color was a deep, glossy hue like ink. On the backs where the blue-grey space would be, it was a deep raven that reflected a dull, jade-tinted silver. The tips of her primary feathers had stripes of coal that reflected slate grey. Like curtains of black silk so finely embroidered that one had to have a light on them to see the patterns. 

He pushed it aside, reaching for the left wing first, smoothing the feathers. Her wings felt warm. Tinged with Hellfire, he suspected, but a comforting, bone-deep warmth like being close to a fireplace.

A pleased sigh left her as she felt his fingers brush through her plumage. She wasn’t as sensitive as he was, but it felt nice. Like a good massage. She tilted her wings into his touch. Gabriel took his time, tending both wings carefully, but as she only had two and was in good order already, it didn’t take nearly as long.

“Feels nice.” She sat up and stretched her wings. “You did good work.”

His voice got stuck somewhere as he watched her fold her wings away. He followed suit, pressing his own back into the ether.

“How about you? Feel better?”

Gabriel nodded. “Yes. No shed means no itching.”

“Good. Maybe it’ll help you focus?” She smiled.

“I don’t think any amount of focus would help.”

Her smiled faded. She glanced up at the sky, the sun starting to set. A snap of her fingers turned the ottoman into a bench and she sat down before patting the spot beside her. Gabriel hesitated briefly, but sat down next to her.

“Hit a wall?” Xaslem asked.

“Exhausted my resources.” Gabriel sighed heavily. “I can’t find anything. Even the documents Aziraphale and Crowley had the human witch send over didn’t tell me anything I don’t already know.”

She chewed her lower lip, watching him gaze to the horizon. Quietly, she also looked out over the field past the fence, to the woods and the pink-and-orange streaked sky. Being next to him was… comfortable. More than comfortable. She was relaxed, and some brief but deep introspection told her she felt… well… Safe. She pushed the feeling down just as he looked over at her, and whatever question he had on his tongue vanished.

“I have an idea. But I need Crowley’s advice. See what he thinks before I tell you.” Xaslem said, looking at him.

“What kind of advice?” Gabriel asked.

“The kind of advice that may or may not involve your sister-in-law.”

A few seconds ticked by before he caught up. “Azazel?”

“Like I said… I’ll tell you when I’m sure. Alright?”

“Fair enough. I need to talk to Aziraphale, anyways.”

“I’ll text them and see when they have a minute.”

\---------


	26. Angelic Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: As much as I wish this fic didn’t have it, the Lockdown short is canon, so the virus is a thing in this fic. Only briefly mentioned, but I’m sorry anyways. T-T

As it turned out, Aziraphale and Crowley weren’t busy. The two demons left in the Bentley, to talk in private, leaving the two angels in the flat above the Bookshop. The shop was closed, given the lockdown, so they didn’t have to worry about being heard by any unwanted listeners.

Gabriel and Aziraphale watched the demons leave the shop, walking to the Bentley before the pair drove off down the street, riding to whatever errand Xaslem had. The Archangel heaved a sigh and rubbed his brow before pinching the bridge of his nose. The familiar action was, of course, noticed.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale questioned.

“Yeah.” Gabriel shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “I just need some advice. And you probably know more about this sort of thing than I do.”

Quietly, he led the taller angel to the back room, where they sat down in a pair of armchairs. Aziraphale poured a couple glasses of whiskey, but neither really drank any of it. They sat in quiet for a few minutes, Aziraphale seated primly while Gabriel slumped a bit in his chair with legs crossed. They had shared some text messages and were civil, but had yet to have any real meaningful conversation with one another.

“I’ve been… sensing something, from Xaslem. I’m not sure what it is.” Gabriel finally said, regarding the amber liquid in his glass.

“Oh. Well…” Aziraphale shifted a bit in his seat. “What does it feel like? This sensation?”

He considered for a moment. “Warm. Indescribably warm and light, but also thick and syrupy. It sets off… little sparks, I suppose. Everywhere, in every direction.”

His brows furrowed upwards and he pursed his lips.

“It’s difficult to put into words. It’s not a bad feeling, but it’s not something I’m used to. And every time I sense it and get ready to ask her, it slips away. I can’t place it.”

Aziraphale swallowed hard and took a drink from his glass, gaze anywhere but the taller angel. Gabriel noticed, and watched the blonde set his glass aside before clasping his hands neatly.

“I take it you know EXACTLY what I’m talking about.”

“Yes, actually.” He nodded, and hesitated. “It’s not a sensation you’re accustomed to because, well… It’s not something Heaven really possesses anymore.”

Gabriel arched a brow.

“You’ve been sensing love.”

He went tense, bristling at the idea.

“And it recedes when you get ready to ask because she’s been trying to mask it.”

A hundred different questions went off in his mind.

Aziraphale continued. “Crowley would often do the same thing. Part because I wasn’t ready to admit how I felt, and part because we were both worried about the consequences.”

The Archangel swallowed thickly. “And she’s hiding it because…?”

“It could be for any number of reasons. She’s still stuck serving Hell. You’ve been Excommunicated and Heaven is trying to kill you. She made herself your guardian. We can’t be sure why unless… Well, YOU can’t be sure, unless you ask her.”

Gabriel nodded.

“Well… I do believe I’m going to make some tea, if you’d like some.” Aziraphale offered, as he stood.

“If it’s not too much trouble, then please.” Gabriel stood and followed him upstairs.

The flat wasn’t quite what he expected. An odd mishmash of antiquated and modern, with potted plants in every windowsill, a record-player beside the large TV on the fireplace mantle. It was clear Crowley and Aziraphale lived together, not that he’d expected any less. Gabriel looked his way, watching the shorter angel disappear into the flat’s kitchen. He made himself comfortable on the sofa. Or, as comfortable he could be when he wanted nothing more than to leave. He wasn’t worthy to sit here and take tea with the angel he’d nearly killed.

Soon enough, Aziraphale returned, setting a laden tray on the coffee table. He watched the blonde fix a cup of tea for himself, noting he added no sugar. He quietly fixed his own cup of tea, took a drink, and set it down. Aziraphale watched him rest his elbows on his knees, rubbing his face, all while the shorter angel sat primly with ankles crossed, hands delicately holding cup and saucer.

“You’re worried, I take it.” Aziraphale said quietly.

“Among other things.” Gabriel muttered, frowning. “Even though I know she can take care of herself.”

“They both can.” He agreed, pausing a moment. “Would you care to tell me what’s on your mind?”

“So, insisting on talking problems out is normal?” The taller angel drawled, thought it lacked real bite. “And here I thought that was just Xaslem.”

“Communication is useful. Key to a healthy relationship, as some humans would say.”

“Because you and I have SUCH a healthy relationship.”

“Gabriel.”

He side-eyed the blonde.

“We didn’t, before. For the longest time. But building a rapport takes time, work… and communication. And we’re getting there. If I’ve done something to upset you—”

“You haven’t, sunshine. And don’t apologize. Especially not to me.” Gabriel sat back, slumping against the sofa and staring up at the decorative floral print of the ceiling. “If one of us should be apologizing, it’s me.”

His expression softened. “Perhaps you can air your grievances? Even if they aren’t aimed my way? It always used to help.”

He considered this. There had been occasions when he would rant. Usually short and pointed rants to do with something going awry, such as his brief rant with Beelzebub at the airfield, or his tiff with Xaslem over their first pinky-promise. Aziraphale occasionally witnessed one or two, but had always glossed over it and paid it no mind. This, however, was too big for a small self-directed spat. Groaning, Gabriel dragged a hand down his face, and heaved a sigh.

“How can you stand my being here?” Gabriel finally questioned, looking over at him, eyes dark.

“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale cocked a brow.

“After everything I’ve said to you, everything I’ve done… I don’t understand how you or Xaslem can just… OVERLOOK all of that.”

The shorter angel pouted. “We don’t ‘overlook’ anything, Gabriel.”

He shifted uncomfortably, crossing his legs, looking away, drumming fingers on the arm of the sofa.

“Good Lord, you and Crowley truly are siblings, from how you two avoid conversations like the plague.” Aziraphale sighed heavily and set his tea down on the tray. “Do you forget that, when I was a Cherub, I had to attend several Castings? And Demotions, besides my own?”

No answer came, but he knew the taller angel heard him.

“I know it could have been much worse for me, had Uriel or Michael been in charge of my Demotion.”

“I cut you apart, Aziraphale.”

“And they would have torn me apart, instead. You’re very good with a sword. Did it hurt? Of course. But not nearly as badly as it otherwise would have. And Xaslem’s Fall! Crowley’s Fall! Would you rather one of the others make a spectacle of hurting them?”

“Obviously not.”

“And that’s why you volunteered. For all of us, and many others. That’s why you shot Xaslem down. Because you believe in mercy.”

Gabriel huffed, casting him a halfhearted glare. “Alright. Fine. What about all those ages of ridiculing you, hm? All the ages of nitpicking and verbal abuse?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say abuse—”

“That’s exactly what it WAS, sunshine.” He growled under his breath.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Aziraphale huffed, pouting. “Do you think your being Crowley’s older brother was a shock to me? That it’s recent news? I’ve known since before he Fell, though I hadn’t met him yet. And I know you two were once very close.”

Gabriel grit his teeth, mouth set in a firm line.

“I know you were jealous of how much time I’ve gotten to spend with him.”

“I was a coward. And it’s no excuse, either way.” He gazed ahead, at the wall, still glaring.

“Of all the words I could use to describe you, I don’t think ‘coward’ is one of them. An ass, certainly. But not a coward.”

There was a pause before Gabriel silently looked over at him, brows slightly furrowed. A questioning sort of look.

“It isn’t as if you had a means or excuse to contact him. Your position prevented it. In truth, contacting him may have ended up killing all three of us. Did you cope in a healthy way? No. But there wasn’t much you could’ve done, besides.”

“And the war? It would’ve killed them all. Demons, humans… Xaslem, and Crowley. Because Heaven was pre-ordained to win. And like the antichrist stated… wanting to destroy the world just to see who’s best.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, picking up and sipping at his tea. “And again, you weren’t in much position to do anything about it. What would you have done if you Fell, hm? If you acted out and got cast down? We might not have been able to stop someone TRULY malicious.”

“And I’m not?”

Then, the blonde scoffed. “Please. You’re little more than a schoolyard bully. I’ve endured harsher abuse from humans passing me in the street. There are worse things to be called besides fat.”

Gabriel stared at him.

“I’m curious, if you’ll indulge me.”

“Regarding what?”

“I know Hellfire is one of the fastest executions. That was what you insisted upon, isn’t it.”

“Aziraphale…” The taller angel sighed.

“What mode of punishment did the others want?”

“You don’t want me to answer that.”

“I do. That’s why I asked. And if it helps me prove my point, then all the better.” Aziraphale refilled his cup and took another drink.

Gabriel rubbed his temples before settling back down and sighing. “Uriel wanted you to be torn apart by four Thrones. And, of course, Sandalphon agreed with her.”

He swallowed thickly, but steeled himself.

“Michael said that, as a former Cherub, you deserved honor and to face an Ending Duel. Valasiel took my side. Said if you were deserving of death, it should be merciful.”

“Yes, that sounds like him.” Aziraphale sighed.

Gabriel paused briefly. “Metatron wanted to shatter your core.”

A long moment of silence fell between them. Aziraphale stared down into his cup. All were horrid and painful. Facing four Thrones, being ripped apart, was one of the worst. A duel was understandable, though he knew he’d lose against Michael, as she was an Arch-Seraph.

That last one, however… A shattered core… It was very slow, and exceptionally horrid. Where one’s Celestial center was chained down to a plinth and carved open, broken apart, over the course of thirty-three days. All before the shards were cast down as a Fall, burning up before reaching Hell. It drove home the point of nonexistence that awaited all angels and demons in death. And that was a punishment Metatron himself had invented, sometime after the Battle of Eden.

“How did you win the argument?” Aziraphale questioned quietly.

“We drew lots… and Valasiel helped me cheat.” Gabriel admitted.

“How is he, by the by? Have you seen him?”

“In passing. He left Heaven after Eden was destroyed, but came back for the hearing. He’s found a paramour. The demon Karazan.”

“Oh, wonderful. Karazan’s a nice sort. I think Valasiel would be a good match for him.” Aziraphale paused a long moment. “Did it hurt, what happened? Yes. Obviously. But circumstances change. People change. And let us not forget the revelation with Metatron.”

“Because THAT changes everything.” Gabriel huffed, shaking his head slightly.

“You had no reason not to believe him—”

“Besides what Samael said? What Lucifer said? You were there, both times.”

“I was. And there was no more evidence for their claims than against it. I put my faith in the Lord. And obviously, She’s done SOMETHING right. Or we wouldn’t be here, having this conversation as acquaintances rather than enemies.”

Gabriel frowned, drumming his fingers again, but briefly. “Have you ever had doubts?”

“Yes. We all have, at some point. Why?”

“I’ve never had them, before this mess started. Before the failed Armageddon. I’m used to being sure. Used to having a task or something to look toward. There was an endgame. Now, there’s just…”

Aziraphale said nothing, merely listening.

“It’s like sitting on a boat in a harbor, falling asleep, and then waking up far out to sea, alone, with no land in sight and no hope of seeing the bottom.”

“Doubt can be a hard thing to cope with from someone used to having sure footing.” He nodded, mulling it over. “But I think you’re doing well enough.”

“It doesn’t feel like I am.”

“Then, if I could suggest… Try putting your absurdly confident faith in the new plan? Stopping Metatron and all that?”

Gabriel looked over at him, and a slight smile tugged at his mouth. “I suppose I can try.”

Aziraphale smiled back. “Good.”

\---------


	27. Demonic Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in the Bentley, going 90mph in central London...

“I’m a fucking idiot.” Xaslem hissed, dragging her hands down her face.

“Okay… What happened this time?” Crowley glanced over at her.

“I fucking caught FEELINGS is what happened.”

A beat of silence, followed by a snort.

“Shut up.” She bared her fangs at the serpent.

Crowley cleared his throat and nodded, putting on a serious face.

“How do you mask it? Or get rid of it?”

Another glance at the feline, his brows furrowing upwards. “Why? I mean, Hell called off its attempts at war and decided to leave me alone. A couple demons are openly in relationships with angels. Why the big fuss?”

She pouted and looked away.

“Xaslem.”

“Don’t bust out the Nanny voice. It won’t work.”

“Don’t lie.” He told her in the soft lilting tone he used when speaking as Ashtoreth. “Tell me what’s wrong. You asked for my help, after all.”

The feline heaved a sigh and grumbled before answering. “Heaven wants him dead. They’ve almost succeeded. And you know how they are. They’re sloppy tacticians, but they’re determined. They’ll just keep coming until they pull it off.”

Crowley frowned.

“I just… I can’t afford to get attached. He… One of us will end up dead. I can’t start something with him if I’m just going to end up dead. And I… I can’t…” Her throat felt tight.

“Hey, now…”

She looked over at him.

“We can’t help who we fall for, or why. And trying to stop feeling doesn’t work. I don’t want to see you tear yourself up inside, like I did. And Heaven, even parts of Hell, are gonna try anyway.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” Xaslem muttered.

“It’s not meant to make you feel better. You wanted advice. You’re already ‘attached.’ Is hurting him or yourself by pretending otherwise worth it?”

“I… No. I guess not.”

Crowley considered for a moment. “Tell me why you like him.”

A quiet scoff left her, a smile tugging at her mouth as she shook her head. “He’s… Dedicated. Enthusiastic, after some coaxing. And he’s so fucking naïve… So many things go over his head and it’s hilarious. And even if he looks or seems fake, that’s just really how he is. An open book. Just… I feel like Jessica Rabbit, y’know. The whole, ‘He makes me laugh.’”

He hummed, and waited for her to continue.

“After he told me some of the shit Michael did… I dunno. I feel like he was overcompensating in a lot of places, trying to protect people and himself. He has just as many walls as the rest of us. But I just… He doesn’t have those human notions about hiding emotion. He’s just so unused to expressing emotion that he just can’t process it all. It’s… tricky, dealing with him, sometimes.”

“Heaven has a lot of ways to turn someone into a heartless prat.” Crowley nodded, and sighed. “Just don’t make the same mistakes Aziraphale and I did, alright?”

“No promises.”

“Noted. … So, what did you want help with? Or was this just a friendly little therapy session?”

“We haven’t found anything on how Falling works. But I have an idea. Wanted to see what you think.”

“Alright. And?” Crowley glanced at her.

“Fuck my life…” Xaslem muttered, and sighed. “The only possible lead we haven’t tried is seeing if anything in Purgatory’s archives survived.”

“Are you serious?”

“Very.”

“But the only person left who can open the Iron Gates is—”

“Azazel. Yeah.” She frowned, chewing the corner of her thumb. “And last I checked, she still hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you. She’s just… well, still pissed off. But I don’t think she hates you.”

“Thanks.” Xaslem drawled sarcastically, and frowned. “I dunno what else to do. I’d have to ask Beelzebub to run a message. She might not even open it. Might tell me to shove off.”

“Won’t know until you try.”

“Do you think I should?”

Crowley considered this, turning it over in his mind. Azazel and Xaslem had once been close as sisters. But after Eden was destroyed… When she’d found out Xaslem had fallen, she was horrified, and then unspeakably angry. He suspected some misplaced grief for her parents, Samael and Lilith being some of the first casualties, but he couldn’t be sure.

Finding out the one she’d Fallen to protect had apparently thrown her sacrifice away had been, by all accounts, unforgivable in Azazel’s eyes. They didn’t speak. Hadn’t spoken in some five-thousand years, and Xaslem wasn’t anywhere near high enough in rank to set foot in Satan’s palace without being explicitly summoned.

“It’s worth a shot. Satan said Gabe’s protected. Married to her or not, I doubt he’d tolerate it if she tried anythin unsavory.” Crowley opined, and shrugged. “Your choice, I guess.”

Xaslem took a deep breath. Let it out slow, her head falling to rest back against the seat as Somebody to Love played quietly on the stereo. “Alright. I’ll do it. I just… need to talk it over with him.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“We decided to try… communicating better. Me letting him in on what I know, him not running headlong into danger like an idiot.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Something tells me I’ll need it.”

\---------


	28. Invitation Only

“So, how’d it go?” Gabriel asked as they stepped into their shared home.

“About as I expected.” Xaslem sighed, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a mug. “Coffee?”

“Sure.”

She grabbed a second, heading to the Keurig. “There might be a place where we could find some information.”

“Where?”

“Purgatory.”

Gabriel blinked at her, and then winced. “Xaslem…”

“Just… Hear me out, okay? There’s a chance something might’ve survived. I mean, you guys didn’t check thoroughly. Penemue might’ve been able to squirrel some stuff away before he died.”

“That’s… true, I suppose. But the only people who can open the Iron Gates are Samael, or Lilith. And they’re both dead.”

“Azazel’s their kid. Just because she’s a demon… I mean, she could open them, right?”

He cocked a brow. “Maybe. But I get the sinking feeling you and her don’t see eye-to-eye.”

She pursed her lips, drumming her claws on the counter a moment before fixing his cup of coffee and sliding it toward him. She then set her own to brew, and sighed. “She Fell while leading people away from my hiding spot.”

His brows furrowed as he listened.

“And I broke cover to save you. And then I Fell. Suffice to say, she’s… never forgiven me. Last time we talked was a week after I Fell. Ended in a screaming match with Satan having me thrown out of the palace.”

“And you’re going to ask her to open the gates so we can search the ruins.”

“Yeah.” Xaslem fixed her own cup of coffee, and sipped at it. “Thoughts?”

“We don’t exactly have much to go on. At best, she’ll refuse. At worst, she’ll lash out at us.”

“At me. You’re protected. So proclaimed Satan.” She gave another flicker of sarcasm, even a poncy little wave at the air with one hand.

A chuckle left him.

Her cheeks flushed, gaze falling to the counter. “I’ll run a message through Beelzebub. See what happens. Until then, there isn’t much we can do. Just… wait, I guess.”

“When will you…?”

She glanced at the clock by the TV. “Probably right now. Beelzebub’s like you. Doesn’t believe in sleep. Need anything while I’m out?”

“No. I’m… going to try something.”

“Oh?”

“You have a lot of books. I figured it’d be a good way to pass the time.”

“Sure. Help yourself. Just remember to read the backs or inner covers to see what the book’s about.” Xaslem adjusted her jacket, took a swig of her coffee, and headed for the door. “Be back soon.”

\---------

Uriel sensed it when the Demon left. In silence, she watched the house, and waited for a few minutes to be sure.

She didn’t care what Michael said. Metatron had given orders. Had sent the memos. If Michael wasn’t going to follow through… someone had to.

With what happened to Sandalphon still simmering beneath her skin, Uriel was more than eager to comply.

\---------

Xaslem hesitated before heaving a sigh, and knocking. The doors swung open, revealing Beezlebub seated at her desk.

“What do you want?” The Prince muttered.

“I need a favor.”

Her quill paused, and was lifted from the paper, her gaze turning to the shorter demon.

“A big favor.” Xaslem then held up her offering. “Brought you Starbucks. Smores frappe. Still your current favorite, right?”

Paperwork was set aside, and she motioned for the succubus to enter. The doors swung closed behind her, and a pleased hum left the Prince as the coffee was set on the corner of her desk. Beelzebub pulled it closer, taking a hearty drink from what was indeed her favorite Starbucks offering – she was often too busy to bother going and getting it, and with demons still being attacked without provocation, no one was willing to be sent topside. After a moment, she set her now half-finished frappe aside.

“So. A favor.” Beelzebub intoned. “From me.”

“Yeah.” Xaslem nodded, pulling an envelope from her pocket and tapping it against her palm a few times before handing it over. “I need you to get this to Azazel. Or Satan, if you can. It’s… It’s important.”

“Define important. I’m not about to—”

“We’re still working on figuring Metatron out. Falling, and all that. But we’re out of resources and ideas. We need to find something before he tries to… I dunno. Attack, or something?”

She regarded the shorter demon.

“I figured there might be something left in Purgatory. Wouldn’t hurt to check. But everyone knows the only one who can open the gates is the Queen of Hell herself.”

After a moment, she took hold of the envelope, and paused. “This is a favor. And I’ll see it repaid, someday.”

“No hurting Crowley, Aziraphale, or Gabriel. Aside from that, fair game.”

“Good.” Beelzebub then took the envelope, and set it down before her. She sat back in her chair, again regarding the succubus. “No progress at all?”

“None. Between the archives being destroyed—” Xaslem cut herself off, tensing. Someone had crossed the barrier.

Before she could question, the shorter demon had vanished in a whirl of soot and mist, teleporting away.

\---------


	29. Wrath

The house looked ransacked when she burst through the front door. The back wall and patio door had been busted down, the railing of the porch destroyed and part of the fence crumpled. Wings unfurling, Xaslem took flight. She followed the debris, the scent. She caught the familiar smell of ozone and faded cologne… and chamomile. Angelic ichor.

Midair, she felt her corporation unravel.

Rage. Pure rage. Bubbling and then boiling as she flew into the woods, through the trees, with nary a sound.

\---------

“Any last words?” Uriel hovered the point of the sword beneath his chin.

“I… could say…” Gabriel gagged, a mix of blood an angelic ichor running down his chin. “That I forgive you. Well… I don’t.”

Her brows furrowed.

“But, you should leave. Before it’s too late.”

She glowered at him.

“Uriel… she’ll KILL you. Do I look like I’m in any state to stop her?”

“I can deal with your little demon pet.”

Glassy eyes cleared a bit and peered behind her, his brows furrowing. “Uriel…”

A low, almost crocodilian rumble came behind her, followed by a waft of hot breath that smelt of overripe blackberries. Uriel froze for a moment, and turned slowly.

Jaws lunged at her. She darted aside, swiping her blade. The demon snarled, slamming a great forepaw into her. She was sent flying, slamming into a tree and sword skidding across the ground. The tree cracked in half with the force and fell.

Just as she managed to claw her way up out from under it, a cry left her as she was ensnared by a bola. Unholy wire wrapped round her torso, pinning her arms at her sides, and clipping her Grace. Her Divine Fury reacted reflexively, trying to fry the restraints off her, only succeeding in burning her skin as she crumpled to the ground.

Having returned to her human corporation, Xaslem rushed to Gabriel’s side, kneeling by him where he sat with his back to a tree. Eyes wide, face pale.

“Here. Move your hand. Let me see.” Xaslem nudged his hand away from the wound just enough. Fresh blood and golden ichor bubbled up.

“It’s…” Gabriel winced and tilted his head back to rest against the tree. “It’s been fun, sweetheart.”

“Don’t you dare say that. I swear to Satan, I’ll slap you. Open-handed. With claws.”

A weak snicker left him, but it dissolved into a groan and a muffled, “Fuck.”

“Gabriel, this is going to hurt, but I need you to hold still. I need you to stay awake. Alright?”

“Yeah.”

Taking a deep breath, Xaslem hovered one hand by the wound, paused, and pulled his hand away. The sound that left him was more animal than human as she drew the embers and hellfire out of the wound like a poison, flinging it aside to extinguish in midair. It left him gulping air he didn’t need, a cold sweat slicking his skin. He gagged, and started to slump.

“Stay awake!” She shouted and shook him. “I won’t fucking say it again!”

His eyes fluttered and he nodded.

Still struggling, Uriel watched the demon lean closer to Gabriel. Xaslem’s eyes glowed a brilliant gold-flecked emerald hue as she took a deep breath and exhaled what looked like a green-grey mist over the wound. Gabriel shouted out again, hand balling into a fist and slamming against his thigh as his eyes screwed shut and head tilted back.

The crackle of bones resetting was followed by the wet sucking and gurgling of organs and tissues knitting closed, healing from the inside outwards. Through what remained of his shirt, she could see fresh scarring like molten gold. His body started to go limp, and Xaslem lowered him to lie on the ground.

He muttered something. What might’ve been her name.

“Shush. I’ve got you.” Xaslem pet at his hair and cupped his face in hand. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

A shuddering breath left him.

“You can rest now. But if you die… I’m going with you. Understand me? I’ll off myself if you leave me. Jump right into a vat of holy water.”

He groaned, brows furrowing even as his eyes started sliding closed.

“Sleep. Just make sure you wake up, later.” She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before sitting up on her haunches.

Uriel froze when the demon looked her way. Xaslem snapped her fingers. A ring of hellfire screamed to life around the bound Archangel.

“And I’ll be back for YOU.” She snarled before snapping her fingers again, the two of them vanishing in a plume of black smoke that darted up toward the sky.

\---------

Xaslem inspected the scar at length. The wound bad been in his left ribs, just beneath his heart and into his lung. Attacking his corporation made sense, as they were all more powerful and less manageable in their ethereal forms. The hellfire on the sword would’ve killed him, either way.

The wound was completely healed. The scar itself was around three inches long, narrow but slightly jagged. Like a realistic lightning bolt. Gold, shiny and bright on his skin, with little veins of gold extending around it like cracks in a vase.

She had put him in her bed. Miracled the mess of blood and ichor off him, and miracled him into some comfy clothes on him – his definition of comfy, being one of his turtlenecks and a pair of sweatpants – before pulling the blankets over him.

She heard knocking, followed by familiar footsteps and voices.

“Xaslem?” Aziraphale called out.

“Back here!” She called back.

He came into view soon enough. She was sitting beside the unconscious Archangel, whom she’d pulled her favorite quilt over. 

Crowley came up behind him, gazing past his shoulder and frowning. “What happened?”

“Uriel happened.” Xaslem stood. “I need you two to keep an eye on him for a bit.”

“Xas, no. You can’t—”

“Please. … You’d do the same.”

He sighed, and nodded.

“We’ll stay, darling.” Aziraphale told her. “Do be careful.”

Xaslem gave no reply, casting Gabriel a final glance before snapping her fingers, vanishing from the room.

The angel looked over to his husband. “Dear… you don’t suppose…”

“No idea.” Crowley shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “Xas isn’t the sort for killing unless she feels like she has to. But if she does… She makes examples.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I’ll put a kettle on for when he wakes up.”

He nodded, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed.

\---------

Try as Uriel might, there was no getting out of the unholy wire snared around her, keeping her arms pinned and fingers bound. It had burned through her clothes and was slicing into her flesh with pain she’d never experienced. Like fire and ice and knives all at once. The sun was starting to set. And she was exhausted, and even if she could escape the unholy wire, the curtain of hellfire was still something to contend with.

The roar of the hellfire slowly died, leaving quiet as the flames simmered down to only ankle-height. On the other side of the barrier, there stood Xaslem, hands in her pockets and her expression poker-faced. Uriel twisted to sit leaned back against the fallen tree.

“Y’know… I never did like you.” Xaslem mused, stepping right up to the line. “Even before I Fell. Always such a high-and-mighty priss.”

“Is this how you turned him?” Uriel spat, mustering some anger. “Bind and torture him?”

“I didn’t start carrying unholy wire until you assholes decided to try and kill him.” Then, she stepped across the barrier, sitting on the fallen tree just out of kicking range.

“You did something to him.” She accused, eyes narrowing. “He was never the same after you Fell. You bewitched him. Even Michael says so.”

“I didn’t do shit except look him in the eye when I Fell. … And look at you! Eatin out of Metatron’s greasy palms even after we ended up being right.”

“You’re not. He’s—”

“Played you for suckers. It’s playin out like a fuckin movie. … C’mon, Miss Bond, think about it. The Almighty announces She’s going away for a bit, and proclaims Lucifer is in charge until She returns. Then, suddenly, Metatron declares he’s Her voice, with no evidence or word from Her.”

“She refused to return to Heaven because Lucifer thought himself Her equal.”

“And you believe that?” Xaslem snorted, looking at her. “I mean, I feel like I knew him before all this shit happened, but you worked with the guy.”

Uriel grit her teeth. “Your lies won’t tempt me, demon.”

“Oh, I don’t expect you to believe me. That’d be stupid, especially after how long you’ve been under Metatron. … If you must know, I’m killing time while I figure out what I want to do to you.”

She tensed.

“Do you know how unholy wire works? I’m sure you can feel it. Cuts off an angel’s Grace almost completely. No healing, no miracles, no calling for help. Causes pain because your Divine Fury is trying to get it off but can’t. And no matter what I do to you… it’ll keep your corporation alive. And awake.”

Uriel swallowed hard, staring at the demon.

Xaslem ignored the look, staring off into the surrounding trees. “Gabriel and I put a lot of work into getting over ourselves. Working past what happened. And you just mosey along and try to kill him. To take him away from me right when I’m actually starting to like him.”

“As if he’d—”

“You think he betrayed you, but you think he’s above being with me? Make up your fucking mind. It’s annoying.”

The archangel spat, nailing the side of her face. Xaslem sneered, wiping it off on her fingers and flicking it away.

“Okay… I think I know what I want to do first.”

The demon grabbed Uriel’s jaw and squeezed. Bone snapped and there was a clipped shriek of pain. The break was right down the middle of her chin and to either side of the joints, leaving her jaw hanging uselessly. Uriel shivered and stared up at her, glaring, eyes watering, as Xaslem sat on her haunches beside her, eye-level.

“You don’t have much room to talk about indoctrination. He spent three days trying to contact you people. He was afraid the slightest misstep will make him Fall. Would make you come after him. He buries himself in paperwork and nearly discorporated himself with anxiety plucking thanks to you people.”

Uriel stared at her, brows knitting at the notion.

“And you abandoned him. You people’ve nearly killed him TWICE, now. Just like Metatron wants you to. When’s the last time you’ve seen Met’s wings, hm? When’s the last time you saw mummy dearest in person? Heard from Her in person? Did Sandalphon tell you what happened, or refuse to discuss it while Metatron filled in the gaps?”

“P-Proves… nothing…” Uriel managed to rasp.

“Proves everything. You can’t learn anything if you don’t ask questions. Why would She give us free will and free thought, only to never use it? And She never communicated with mortals directly. Who did? Oh yeah… Metatron, usually. Or angels under his orders.”

She shivered, grimacing. There was an unspoken question in her eyes.

“I think I know what I want to do.” The hellfire snuffed out entirely. “I starred in a horror movie, once. Did you know that? Cat of Katmai. I was summoned because they were low on the effects budget and they needed a hand.”

Uriel watched the demon stand and back up a step.

“And I usually go by a three-strike rule. This is strike two. So, next time… I’ll kill whoever it is that tries the next stunt. Not this time, since he’s unconscious and I can’t exactly ask if he’d care. So, for this time… I think I’ll give you an up-close rehearsal.”

Xaslem’s corporation began to unravel in what looked like tattered, sooty ribbons. Her ethereal form stretched upwards, twelve feet tall with slate black skin. Furless, despite being feline in aspect, leaving only wrinkled skin. It was patterned like a clouded leopard, fading to a bluish-grey on the sides and a cream underbelly, with a stark white patch on the chest. Two pairs of forelegs ending in handlike forepaws, one pair of hind legs, and a pair of great, midnight wings.

The face was like that of a stone lion from the east, with curved, protruding fangs at the corners. Her halo had broken perfectly in her fall, creating a pair of sweeping, pronged horns with a pair of forward-curving parts that framed her face. In said face, there sat five eyes – two to either side, one vertical in the brow – with long, pointed, faelike ears. Three long, whiplike tails were each tipped in a line of spines and a wicked half-spade like bladed whips. White claws couldn’t fully retract, looking like curved meat-hooks.

A whipcrack of one tail sent the unholy wire constricting. Deep into Uriel’s flesh. Down to the bone. The Archangel screamed.

When Uriel managed to open her eyes, all she saw were teeth lunging down at her.

Screams echoed in the woods. Crunching bones, ripping clothes, tearing flesh. Blood splattered bark and foliage. Xaslem left her face in-tact, so the others could see her expression and hear her pain. After all was said and done, the demon returned to her human corporation and picked up Uriel’s phone where it’d fallen. She knelt by the archangel, picking up a blooded, broken hand and closing it around the phone.

“Don’t say I never gave you nothin.” Xaslem sneered, hitting speed-dial before snapping her fingers, vanishing from the woods.

\---------

Pain. It was everywhere. Centered in his chest, mostly, but still everywhere. And he had the worst headache he could remember.

The first thing Gabriel was aware of was that he was lying down, surrounded by that floral, citric, nectar like scent his mind instinctively associated with Xaslem. There was a steady purring beside him. He could feel her curled up against his side, keeping herself between him and the door.

He managed to turn his head. In that moment, her eyes slid open and she looked up at him. Her hair was damp and messy, the demon garbed in loose, soft pajama bottoms and a baggy t-shirt.

“Hey.” She turned and leaned up on her elbows, kicking her legs up behind her. “How’re you feeling?”

“Miserable. But getting better.” He smirked at her.

Xaslem nuzzled his shoulder.

“Sweetheart?”

“I didn’t kill her. But next time… I will. I don’t care if it’s her, someone else, or even Michael. Next person to try, dies.”

Gabriel gave her a somewhat saddened expression before working one arm out from under the blankets and wrapping it round her shoulders. “I know. And I won’t try to stop you.”

“Good.”

\---------

Finding a demon powerful enough to remove the unholy wire had bee problematic. Beelzebub stated she would, if they agreed to the terms of the treaty Metatron had previously thrown in her face. They refused, of course. Eventually, they appealed to the Earl of Heresy, Arachne… after capturing his mate, Raum. The unholy wire was removed under promise Raum would be released, unharmed. And he was, though Arachne left swearing bloody revenge, as one would expect from any demon.

On one hand, it felt like a victory. They now knew where Gabriel was hiding. On the other hand, to Michael, it was a hollow victory.

It was bad enough the demon had corrupted her brother. Had dragged him to sin, and eventually treason. But now, that demon refused to let him go and face death with dignity. It gnawed at her, down to the bone, her very core, until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

The Angel of War had enough. It was no longer about killing the demon, but sending a message.

Going to earth and obtaining human-made holy water from a cathedral, easy enough.

Luring the demon out would be just as easy. All she had to do was trigger the barrier, lead her back to the woods… Michael made a mental note to sharpen her sword down to the very atom before setting out.

\---------


	30. Catharsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SEX ahead! There is sex. Finally.

“Hey. You okay?” Xaslem asked, sitting on her side of the sofa.

Gabriel peered at her from where he sat, on his side. “Yes, and no.”

She tilted her head.

“Her sword was coated in Hellfire.” He sighed.

“And Michael called favors to get unholy wire to use on you. What of it?”

“A sword coated in Hellfire is a bit more than that, isn’t it?”

Xaslem pouted. “How’s your scar?”

“Sore. Stiff. But it’s getting better.”

She thought a moment, considering. They were still waiting for word back, and someone-only-knew when Beelzebub would finally deliver the message. Probably not until her next briefing with Satan, whenever that would be. No one just walked up to him. It had to be a summons. No one wanted to risk his ire. So, they’d be waiting for a while. Days, maybe weeks.

“Feel good enough to go on a little adventure?” She asked him.

“Maybe.” He cocked a brow her way. “Why?”

“Change into somethin comfy. We’re goin on a trip.” Xaslem stood and went into the dining room.

Gabriel had half a mind to protest, but only sighed. A snap of his fingers had him in his usual outing attire. Turtleneck, slacks, coat, scarf… When he strode into the dining room, however, he saw Xaslem wasn’t in her usual clothes. Instead, she was in a pair of snug jeans, a t-shirt, and a canvas jacket with fingerless gloves on her hands. She was checking something on her phone.

“What in Heaven…?” Gabriel trailed off.

She peered up at him and snickered. “When I said something comfortable, I didn’t mean that. I meant… something you don’t mind getting messy or torn up.”

“For what reason?”

“Because since angels don’t believe in stress relief, imma show you how demons blow off steam.”

He hesitated, staring at her.

“Want me to do it?”

“If you really think it’s necessary, then yes.”

Xaslem regarded him for a long moment, undressing and redressing him in her mind. After a moment, she snapped her fingers. The angel let out a small, surprised breath and looked down at himself. Dark leather shoes, jeans, dark button-up shirt, and a black suede jacket. Xaslem blushed and chewed her lower lip, having underestimated just how nice the angel would look in that particular getup.

“Right. Let’s go.” She turned toward the door.

“How do people stand wearing this?” Gabriel muttered.

“Is it uncomfortable?” Xaslem looked over at him as he took her arm.

“No. It’s just… unseemly.”

She arched a brow.

“On me. Unseemly on me. You look fine.” He corrected quickly.

“Uh-huh…” A snap of her fingers came before she opened the door.

The pair walked out onto an overgrown field of grass that sat before a rather large mansion, which looked like a stereotypical haunted location. Stone facades, wooden timber support beams mimicking Tudor style, multiple chimneys, overgrown garden.

“Are you taking me out on a Lurk?” Gabriel deadpanned. “You know that’s not something angels do.”

“Not a Lurk. I don’t much care for that sort of thing. It means dealing with other demons.” Xaslem frowned at the thought as she led him up the cracked concrete drive. “No, we’re here to have some fun.”

He watched her release his arm, allowing her to dramatically throw the doors of the place open. One came off the hinges and hit the floor with a crash.

The place was FILTHY. Dead leaves, bits of trash, a few syringes… Chipped paint and peeling wallpaper. The air stank of mold, and they could hear dripping in the distance. It reminded Gabriel of Hell, really, as he followed Xaslem past the entryway, down a hall, into a vast open room. The back of said room was framed by twin staircases. Black and white tiles were cracked and chipped. And…

And there was a table. A long dining table against the wall with dozens of dishes, glass and ceramic, most of them antique. With a snap of her fingers, a softball bat appeared in either of her hands. She held one out to Gabriel. Eyeing her warily, he took one.

“Breaking stuff’s a great way to get all those annoying feelings out.” Xaslem strode to the table and picked up a large vase with hideous flower print.

From where he remained standing in the doorway, he watched as she tossed the vase into the air and slammed the bat into it. An explosion of shards flew at the staircases, clattering over the floor and leaving little scratches in aged wood. A satisfied, almost pleased sigh left the demon, who smirked at the destruction she’d just wrought.

She turned to him. “Give it a try. Anything and any way you like. Could even wish up a couple sledgehammers and bring the walls down, if you want.”

Gabriel gazed down at the bat in his hand, the grip smooth leather against his palm. “I’m not sure how this would help.”

“Pancake…”

He looked up at her.

“For once, just trust me. Give it a try. See how it feels, instead of sitting there pondering how it ‘should’ feel.”

The Archangel looked at the tables, sighed heavily through his nose with a brief wince at the ache in his side, and strode closer. Quietly, Xaslem picked up a teapot, moved away from him, set it on the floor, and took a stance as if playing golf. The thwack of her bat slamming into porcelain, followed by the clatter of broken shards on tile, echoed through the room.

Pursing his lips, Gabriel picked up a teacup. It was cream white with seafoam ivy painted on the lower half, gold leaf around the rim in floral print to match the gold-covered handle. The color reminded him of Michael, the scars on his core aching. He glared down at the teacup absentmindedly before throwing it against the wall. The delicate material shattered into dozens of pieces, clicking and clacking against the floor as it crumbled into a heap.

Turning, Xaslem gave him an expectant look.

He couldn’t really explain how it felt. At first, briefly, he mourned the loss of a piece of china someone had spent a great deal of time on. Then, intrigue. He wasn’t used to breaking much of anything. Once, he had knocked a glass paperweight off his desk and it had been an annoying little bump in his day. This felt… different. A curious sound left him as he looked over the table, finding a large, stained glass vase.

With his off-hand, he threw it into the air, and swung with his sword-hand. The vase exploded into an array of rainbow shards, scattering across the floor. A smile tugged at his mouth. There was something strangely, viscerally satisfying to this.

Xaslem grinned.

\---------

It STARTED with the dishes.

They took turns pitching to one another or chucking pieces at the walls. And it just snowballed from that point forward, once they ran out of dishes. They flipped the table, wished up a pair of sledgehammers, knocked out the bars of the stairwell railings, busted open windows… Somehow, they had managed to collapse one of the chimneys, putting a huge hole through the whole building. Then they found an office and took turns smashing the old computers and the printers.

The sun was starting to set. Giggling in a decidedly undemonic way, Xaslem let herself fall backwards, miracling a soft futon mattress under herself with a Cheshire-cat smile. Grinning, Gabriel fell beside her. They were both a bit sweaty, smudged with dirt, panting for air they didn’t need as they stared up at a ceiling stained by tobacco smoke.

“So!” Xaslem looked over at him, hair in her face where it came free of her scrunchy. “How was it?”

“Cathartic.” Gabriel smiled over at her. 

“We could take one last step before heading home.”

“Yeah?” He arched a brow at her, turning onto his side and propping himself on his elbow.

“Yeah. We could burn this fucker to the ground.”

The Archangel snorted, shaking his head as he tried hard not to grin. He failed, flopping onto his back as one hand covered his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering it.”

“Well… You could always say, ‘A demon made me do it!’”

A laugh – a genuine, honest-to-someone LAUGH – escaped him, his eyes glimmering bright orchid as he peered at her.

“C’mon! Think about it. We can miracle the fire to keep it from spreading and just light it up! Watch it go down. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, under the stars…” She wiggled a brow at him.

“Alright. I’m convinced.”

Xaslem sat up and stretched, arms up above her head and claws extending outwards briefly. Gabriel watched the action, and found his eyes tracing the curves her normal clothes hid. He sensed that warm, crawling, syrupy sensation of affection from her, feeding into the pooling warmth in the pit of his stomach.

A soft hum left her as he sat up and scooted closer, and her cheeks flushed darkly when she felt him kiss her shoulder while his hand took hers, the pad of his thumb rubbing the back of it. She sensed lust, just a touch, all hot and sweet and need-more, but not outright. Not overt. Stifled by something. Demons couldn’t sense affection, love, except in this way. By deduction.

“Thank you.” Gabriel told her.

Xaslem purred, turning to look at him. “No problem.”

There was a pause. He glanced at her mouth and was about to look away, but froze when she leaned forward and kissed him. Gabriel had seen humans kiss, but he had never expected it to be this… soft, or warm. After a moment, she pulled back and kissed his chin, and his jaw, before nuzzling his neck. His hand came up out of reflex, caressing her side as she came closer.

With a shuddering breath, she pulled back to look at him. “Sorry. I—”

He cut her off by kissing her again, his hand rising from her side to her face, thumb brushing her cheek. She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, simply bracing on one and holding his wrist with the other. Gabriel pulled back and kissed the corner of her mouth, his brows furrowing as he watched her through a half-lidded gaze.

“Don’t be sorry.” Gabriel muttered, voice low with a slightly rough edge. “Never be sorry.”

“But… I’m making out with you in the middle of this… mess.” Xaslem pouted at him.

“In a place you brought me so I could just BE. It’s as far away from Heaven as I can get without being in Hell. It’s just… Us. Here.”

She smiled at that.

“Just… I want this. Before I lose my nerve.”

“You sure, honey?”

He shivered at the new pet-name, and nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Xaslem slid closer, crawling to straddle his lap. She thumbed the lapels of his leather jacket.

“You really like this look?”

“It’s… nice, but not really you. Maybe with a different haircut and some scruff on that pretty face of yours.”

He gave a half-scoff, half-laugh at the idea.

“But it suits the occasion.” She nibbled along his jaw, and sucked lightly at his neck, over his corporation’s pulse. “You DO look good in jeans, though.”

“And you look good in just about everything.”

“Flatterer.” She kissed his Adam’s apple, her hands drifting over his abs through his shirt.

Gabriel laid back, hands on her hips, unable to help the bit of tenseness along his shoulders.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine. Just…”

Xaslem peered at him, tilting her head with a soft expression.

“Nothing. I’ll explain it later. I’m fine.” Gabriel assured her.

“Alright.” She nipped his chin and purred, removing her gloves before inching her hands up under his shirt. “Let me know if that changes.”

Her hands were so WARM. Like direct sunlight. The demon’s whole body resonated with a bone-numbing warmth that made him want to melt against her. Heaven was cold. Frigid, even. Angels, especially. Now that he was feeling this, feeling HER, well… He doubted he could ever let go, after this. Not that he wanted to.

She couldn’t help the little mew she gave when Gabriel reached up and eased her jacket down off her shoulders, not caring as it pooled in his lap. True to his word, he was interested. She could already feel his effort pressing up against her through their clothes and she bit her lower lip with a whine. Xaslem shivered.

Part excitement, part nerves. All her knowledge was theoretical. She’d read plenty of erotica. Watched porn. But she’d never actually done it beyond her own hands and toys. Relief rippled through her when Gabriel seemed content with taking the lead. As he nibbled along her throat, she tilted her head back, moaning as his pleasantly cool hands slid under her shirt to palm her through her bra. A sudden flash of self-consciousness made her whimper.

“Are they, um… Is it—”

“You’re perfect.” Gabriel told her, pushing away that little doubt easily. “How do you get this open? I mean… May I?”

“You may.” She smiled with a chuckle. “It’s a sports bra. I can just pull it off with my shirt.”

He helped her out of both garments quietly.

While most of her scars were along her arms, there were a few on her torso. One just beneath her left breast, and a smaller one between her right collarbone and heart. He kissed all of them, lightly kneading at her chest and brushing a thumb over either nipple. She shivered and keened as he then kissed a path up her breastbone, along her throat, to her lips. Xaslem managed to push his jacket off between touches. She kissed him again as she undid the buttons of his shirt, reaching up briefly to brush a thumb over his chin and coax him to open to her. He did.

The angel tasted like ozone and fresh rain. Crisp and cool. She leaned closer into the kiss with a soft moan, finally pushing his shirt open as she tasted him. Her hands slid up his torso, from his Adonis belt to his abs, up to his chest, feeling the line of soft curls that ran his torso. Gabriel groaned, disjointedly noticing she tasted like tea. He tried to press closer, their teeth clicking softly, hands drifting up the soft expanse of her back. Liquid heat slid down her spine, the demon shivering pleasantly at the needy ache that settled between her legs.

She shivered with a gasp, biting her lower lip as his hands skirted up her sides, back to her breasts, kissing her throat as he gently pinched and rolled her nipples. It was a pleasant feeling. She never paid her breasts much attention and never manifested them much larger than As or Bs. But the feeling of him palming and teasing them made her whine, warmth pooling between her legs. Xaslem rocked slowly, feeling his effort pressing up against her own.

Her hands slid down to his belt and paused. “Can I?”

“Yeah.” Gabriel nodded slightly.

The buckle jingled as she got it open, followed by button and fly. He laid back long enough to lift his hips and help her push jeans and boxers down just below his hips. Big, like the rest of him. Enough so that she wondered how he’d even fit, the tip flushed with a bead of pre on it.

Xaslem kissed him again, moaning softly as she wrapped a hand around his effort. Light, exploring touches. Gabriel groaned, hips twitching, before he slid his hands to the front of her jeans. He hesitated, until she nodded for him to keep going. He undid her jeans and slid them down, and with a bit of wriggling on her part, completely off. A dark blush slid across her cheeks. She was already wet, the soft cotton sticking to her and a dark patch noticeable.

His hands hesitated again at the waistband of her panties, but she gave a purr, reaching to hook his fingers into it as quiet encouragement. The garment was pulled down and off, leaving her bare before him. He sat up, one hand resting in the small of her back as the other rested at her hip. Hesitating. Waiting for permission. Permission came in the form of her coaxing his hand lower, her free hand holding the lapel of his jacket as she kissed along his corporation’s pulse.

A whine left Xaslem as she felt his touch, his fingers deftly stroking her before one slid inside, while his palm pressed her clit. The rhythm was gentle. Careful. Brushing lightly against her g-spot, within. It made her whimper and bury her face against his collarbones.

“You alright?” Gabriel murmured, kissing beneath her ear.

“Fuck yes… More. Please.” Her voice came out more needy than she’d like.

A second finger pressed into her. It was VASTLY different from being by herself. His touch was different from her own. Careful and knowing just enough to make it feel far better than it had any right to. When she shivered and started rocking against his hand, he pressed a third into her, and paused when she hissed at the sting. His thumb stroked the soft, trim curls on her mons, kissing her neck, shoulders, and collarbones as he waited for her to relax.

“F-Fuck… I… I’m gonna…” She was shivering against him.

“Go ahead.” He murmured. “I’ve got you.”

Xaslem yelped as she came, her thighs squeezing his hips as heat skittered through her pelvis and down her spine. Her body gripped his fingers, squeezing, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what she really wanted, what she needed. Not satisfying enough. She rode out her climax, rocking her hips as he held her and kept moving his hand. When she whined and winced, he stilled and gazed at her.

“Fuck…” Her voice was thin, and needy. “Do… Can we keep going?”

“Yeah.” Gabriel’s own voice was rougher than usual, withdrawing his hand and miracling it clean.

“We… We should use a condom. Just in case.”

“What?”

It took her mind a moment to catch up. So, if he had any sexual experience, it was by himself, and-or before condoms were even invented. With a breathy chuckle, she wished one up into her hand and showed the little foil packet to him.

“Keeps pregnancy from happening. I dunno if that’d be possible for us, but… can’t hurt, right?”

Gabriel nodded. Despite her claws, she easily got it open and down over him without nicking the material. It looked, and felt, odd… but he chose not to complain. At least she had the good sense to think of that. It hadn’t occurred to him they could—His thoughts were interrupted as she sat up straighter on her knees.

“Do me a favor and… hold still. Until I get settled.” Xaslem kissed his chin. “Can you do that for me?”

Despite the aching protest of his effort, he nodded, holding her hips.

Reaching down between them, she positioned him, the tip of his effort spreading her own just so. Slowly, she lowered herself. A hiss left her at the stretch. It stung – hoo boy did it sting – but she managed to get a third of the way down before she had to pause, sucking down several shaking breaths. Her hands clutched his jacket, holding herself up as much as her legs and his hands. Her eyes watered and she pursed her lips, taking deep breaths. And yet, through the sting of taking something, someone, bigger than her body was made for, she still felt it. That low simmer of want, her clit throbbing dully.

Gabriel fared no better. His mind was a mantra of tight, hot, too much, more. He couldn’t make sense of it and his muscles shook with the effort to hold still. He cursed sharply under his breath as she drew up and lowered back down, now just over halfway. She whined and squirmed against him.

“Sweetheart, you… fuck, you don’t have to—”

Xaslem cut him off with a quick kiss. “I want to. So let me.”

He nodded, kissing her, only to pull back with another harsh curse as she drew up and made it nearly all the way down. The pain was fading slowly. It felt better when she moved. With that realization, she pulled up and dropped down completely. A breathy cry left both of them when his hips met her backside.

It fit. She was full. Achingly, deliciously full. She panted, and rolled her hips.

Gabriel rolled them so she was back-down on the mattress, with him over her. And oh, wasn’t that a sight. An angel, dressed casual with shirt hanging open looming over her, splitting her open while still dressed… That felt good.

He braced on one elbow, the other hand holding and tilting her hips. She squeezed her thighs, making sure he didn’t go too deep and bruise her, before nodding and kissing his throat.

It was a slow thing. Like waves on a calm shore. Working her open in a steady rhythm between shaking breaths. She was still holding his jacket, too worried about clawing him on accident to release the leather from her grasp. The hand on her hip moved lower, his thumb swiping up some of her slick before rubbing at her clit.

Gabriel could feel love radiating off her in thick, heady waves. Simmering through his core, his being. And likewise, Xaslem could sense lust wafting from the angel, crashing down on her in a pleasant, giddy high. A feedback between the pair.

Her second climax tore through her without warning. It left Xaslem crying out against his throat, going tense against him. Gabriel followed not long after, letting out a muffled jumble of Latin and Enochian expletives into her shoulder as his hips jittered, and he fell still over her.

It was dark out, now. Crickets were chirping. There was a nightjar calling in the distance.

Xaslem purred, kissing the angel’s jaw and neck before settling back with an utterly sated and peaceful expression.

“You alright?” Gabriel murmured, nuzzling her neck.

“Just peachy. Never better.” She murmured happily. “You?”

“Same.” He hesitated before carefully pulling away. “Fuck…”

She miracled the condom and the mess gone and sat up, her legs still draped over his hips as he sat up on his knees. Now, she didn’t bother trying to hide the feeling she’d been masking.

The pair dressed, miracled a quilt outside, and watched as the abandoned building burned down while they lay together under the stars. They stayed there for a few hours, before heading home to rest, where they ended up sharing coffee and falling asleep on the sofa.

\---------


	31. The Fall

When Xaslem awoke, she was lying on a warm, firm chest. She was in her pajamas. Him, a turtleneck and sweatpants. She didn’t hear the TV, but she felt his arms around her, and heard a page turning. Reading over her shoulder, them. She purred deep in her chest at the closeness, the warmth, and the delicious soreness in her corporation.

“Good morning.” Xaslem murmured.

“Good morning.” Gabriel replied and kissed the top of her head. “Though, technically, afternoon.”

A quiet chuckle left her, and a pleased sigh. “Reading anything good?”

“One of your cookbooks. … Just picked at random.”

“Whatever works. Cookbooks are good. … Which one?”

“It’s…” He closed the book briefly to glance at the title. “It says, ‘A Sorcerer’s Cookbook.’”

“Good choice. It’s not actual magic, but a lot of it tastes pretty good. My personal favorite cookbook.”

“It struck me as something you’d like.”

Xaslem smiled. “Honey, I never keep cookbooks I don’t like.”

“Even so.”

She paused a moment. “Care if I turn the TV on and grab us some coffee?”

“Feel free.” He lifted his arms away so she could get up.

Xaslem turned the TV to an animal program. Unoffensive, and educational. After, she left for the kitchen and returned with two mugs of coffee. The cookbook had been set aside on the end-table, the angel sitting up and thanking her quietly.

“Anything you want to talk about?” She asked, despite not wanting to.

“No. I…” Gabriel trailed off, and sighed. “Maybe. I’m just not sure where to begin.”

“How about… Any regrets? About…”

“None.” He said without hesitation. “If there’s one thing I definitely DON’T regret… It’s us.”

She tried and failed to hide her smile in her coffee, blushing lightly.

“You?”

“I regret nothing.” Xaslem informed him.

Her phone beeped where it rested on the coffee table. When she picked it up, she recognized the number, and frowned at the text message.

“That was quick.” She set her coffee aside. “Looks like we’re being summoned.”

“We?”

“Yeah. As in both of us. Get dressed.”

\---------

“Something doesn’t feel right about this.” Gabriel muttered as they rode the broken, stuttering escalator downwards.

“I know. But I don’t want to risk ignoring a summons if it’s the real thing.” Xaslem sighed as they finally passed Limbo, and descended into Lust.

To one side, a completely motionless escalator with crime-scene tape intersecting it like a web. To the other side, a cavernous abyss showing off the layer that was Limbo. It looked like a portrait of a haunted house had fucked a cyberpunk city concept art. Every column, stalactite, stalagmite, wall… Each vertical surface was covered in buildings. Apartments, catwalks, offices, skyscrapers… Just like the rest of Hell. A contained space, the inverse of Heaven.

“Why are we taking the escalator?” Gabriel finally asked

“They put voice-recognition technology in the elevator. Crowley and Hastur got stuck in it for a while because the robot doesn’t recognize certain accents. I don’t want to risk it in case it only does British, and not Cincinnati,” she gestured to herself, and then him, “or St. Louis.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“I just realized that’s where my accent’s from.”

“You never knew where the fuck your accent’s from?” Xaslem snorted, and then laughed. “Oh… That’s funny shit, right there.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his mouth.

The deeper they went, the louder something became, until it couldn’t be ignored.

“What is that?” He questioned.

“The Maelstrom.” She folded her arms, repressing a shiver. “What awaits all those who Fall to the Sin of Lust. It’ll get a lot fucking louder once we're through Limbo, before we hit Gluttony. Be aware, the place reeks of food.”

“Is there any other way?”

“No. I tried shortcutting us down, but it wasn’t working. I assume because I’ve never teleported that deep into Hell with a passenger. Or because my passenger for a trip to the palace is an angel. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I understand.”

“Anyways—” She caught movement behind him.

There was no warning. Xaslem pushed him aside, and that movement tackled her off the escalator and into open space. There was a flurry of wings. Anger rose when she recognized her attacker.

Snarling, she shoved Rosier away. But when he wheeled to fly at Gabriel, she rushed after him. “No you fucking don’t!”

Xaslem tackled him. Sparks flew, his ribs cracking audibly and chest denting the edge of the escalator. The machinery squealed and sputtered to a stop.

“Ungrateful little bitch!” Rosier spat as he turned, and he chased her.

The denizens of Limbo heard the commotion. Watched as Rosier chased Xaslem through their plane of existence. Word got back to Asmodeus, who inevitably called Beelzebub.

Gabriel flew after them. Didn’t give a thought to his own safely. Only getting to Xaslem and getting her attacker away from her. But as they passed Limbo's wall and neared that once distant roar of wind, a gale shoved him downwards and he crashed, tumbling to a stop just beside the Arena of Lust… home to the Maelstrom.

Picking himself up off the ground, he saw Xaslem and Rosier landed on one of the watchtowers of the arena. Just at the edge of the gale. Both held a knife in hand, swiping and slashing at one another. Until they caught one another’s wrists just shy of death-blows. 

\---------

Their hands shook. Height difference aside, they held each other’s wrists, claws out, knives poised. She was aiming for his throat, he was aiming for her eye. Flakes of flooring and stone drifted up around them, and were carried off by the Maelstrom.

“You’re… willing to Fall twice?!” Rosier snarled through his teeth. “For an angel?! The fucking angel who cast you down?!”

“I’m willing to Fall twice and die for the angel that proved something to me!” Xaslem hissed, baring her fangs.

His eyes widened. She dropped her knife. Both her hands gabbed his wrist and twisted until he shouted. He clawed at her, but she leaned out of his grasp and slipped behind him. He seized her by the scarf and held her over the precipice of the wall.

\---------

Gabriel tried to rush up to her, only for Beelzebub to catch him by the wrist and drag him back. Even from the wall, the Maelstrom of Lust’s arena pulled at clothes and hair. Hungrily tugging. The storm was unending, and ravenous.

He tried to break free, only for Beelzebub to twist his arm behind his back painfully, forcing him down on his knees. Dagon grabbed his shoulder, the fallen Arch-Seraph helping her mate hold him in place.

“Let go!” Gabriel snapped, only to wince under the former Cherub’s grip.

“If you go in there or get pushed in, you’ll Fall!” Beelzebub snapped as they kept him pinned. “You can’t help her!”

“No one’s ever Fallen twice! SHE’LL DIE!”

“Stay put! I’ll use unholy wire if I have to, but you’re not going up there!”

\---------

Xaslem stared up at Rosier. The only thing holding her over the storm was him. Her corporation’s heart was pounding, a cold sweat on her back beneath her shirt. The roar of the storm was in her ears. Pressing against her thoughts. Invading her mind.

“I tried to give you everything!” Rosier shouted angrily. “You could’ve been my queen!”

She glanced back over her shoulders at the vortex, her hair whipping around her.

“Say it! Say your mine, and I’ll save you!”

Her gaze whipped back to him, brows furrowing. Rosier ’s heart skipped a beat at that panicked, vulnerable look. He held his free hand out to her. Offering. Like handing Persephone the pomegranate seeds. Slowly, she reached for him. But she didn’t grab his hand. Her expression hardened. She grabbed his wrist. She hooked one foot behind his knee with a vicious smile.

“Go fuck yourself!”

\---------

When Gabriel saw her reach for Rosier, his heart nearly stopped. When she grabbed Rosier and twisted so they both fell off the watchtower, his heart DID stop.

Wings unfurled. Rosier couldn’t escape no matter how hard he flapped. He clawed at Xaslem. She whirled them and slammed him into the jagged arena walls. Blood smeared the crystalline rock. The wind shunted them downwards along the wall. In a helix. Hunks of rock flew. Blood and demonic ichor tinted the wind. Rosier shrieked and threw her off.

\---------

The gale wheeled them back upwards. Xaslem’s wings strained as she darted between massive chunks of hail. Freezing rain stung her skin. Her wings were smoking. Burning.

Rosier stole a glance back at her. For the first time, she saw his eyes were wide. His face was pale. He was afraid. He was TERRIFIED.

Good.

Snarling, she darted after him. Chasing him. She caught him when a hunk of ice slammed into him, breaking one of his wings. He shouted in pain, flapping despite the break.

Xaslem chased him. Pulled feathers from his wings. Gouged him with her claws. Every time the wind carried her close, she lashed out. When Rosier managed to grab a wall, she struck.

Rosier screamed as she tackled him from the wall. Xaslem grabbed him by his coat and dove into the storm’s eye. Blood. She smelled her own blood. And his. Embers floated from their wings.

\---------

Eyes wide, Gabriel watched as Xaslem dove down toward the mist at the bottom of the storm. Where jagged stalagmites could be seen peeking up from the grey.

The two disappeared beneath the mist, and there was a sickening crunch even the storm couldn’t drown out. Gasps and murmurs ran through the onlookers.

The mist ran red. There was a blank spot. A hollow in his chest where her aura usually was. Pain engulfed his chest. He wanted to shout. To scream. No sound came out, and Beelzebub and Dagon kept him pinned on his knees with an arm twisted behind him.

Minutes passed. There was no sign of Xaslem. Discorporating in an arena was death. Even angels knew that. Tears stung his eyes as he tried desperately to sense her. But he couldn’t.

She was gone.

There was a flutter of wings, and a shape overhead. Gabriel didn’t bother to look… until the Maelstrom’s winds sputtered and began to slow. Clouds unraveled. For the first time since Hell’s creation, the Maelstrom of Lust had calmed.

Satan, in his human guise, descended on eight great, black peacock wings, touching down on the bare rock of the arena floor. Hands clasped behind him, he strode amongst the sharp, jagged stalagmites and spared Rosier ’s impaled corpse a passing glance. He wasn’t surprised. No, he was almost proud. He knew Xaslem always had that little spark of violence in her. Vindictive spitefulness wrapped in a protective urge. She should’ve been a Cherub.

He spied her lying on the ground some meters away, pinned by broken pieces of rock.

When Satan shoved the rubble aside with one powerful wing, Gabrel saw Xaslem. She was curled on her side, hair veiling her face. Smoke billowed from her wings, glowing embers clinging to her feathers, which were now so dark that no longer reflected light. While Rosier’s body began to crumble, and broken shards of soul fell away from the ruin, Xaslem remained intact. 

Satan scooped her up in his arms, the Fallen Virtue limp in his hold. A single flap of his wings carried him upwards to land beside his younger sibling. Beelzebub and Dagon released Gabriel, and stepped back. Xaslem was laid out on the ground in front of the Archangel.

“Make sure she pulls through,” Satan’s voice was cool and impassive as he walked away, “and I’ll call it even.”

Gabriel barely heard him, already checking Xaslem over for injuries. The demons watching were murmuring in shock. No one, not even Satan himself, had Fallen twice. Not willingly, accidentally, or by being forced. No one had flung themselves into the pits they crawled out of. Not a single one, until her. And she had thrown herself back into her worst experience… to save an angel.

Xaslem shivered as she was gingerly pulled up against him. Soothing cool-yet-warm energy washed over her as six pale wings cocooned her. But the pain was there. The burning, tearing, aching, bruising… Like she was on fire. She sobbed against Gabriel’s shoulder, occasionally hiccupping, as she came back to consciousness.

Where she’d push him away in a panic attack, she now clung to him. Claws dug at his clothes and she wailed by his ear. Every muscle she had was quivering weakly in fatigue.

“It’s okay. It’s over now. I’ve got you.” Gabriel kissed her temple, holding her close, one hand in her hair and one rubbing her back. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Her cries began to die down, tapering off into silence. Sniffles and occasional hiccups.

Beelzebub stepped closer to them. “She won’t be able to fold her wings away. They’ll hurt a while. … Take her home.”

He nodded, and in a flash of lilac-tinted lightning, they were gone.

\---------

Xaslem was tired. So very tired and aching something awful. It wasn’t as bad as her first Fall… but it was damn close.

Coasting on semi-consciousness for a bit, she caught the familiar scent of cologne and her Archangel. Felt soft Egyptian cotton under her cheek, a barrier between herself and a firm chest. Arms were around her, hands clasped over the small of her back. Her wings were stretched and laid behind her, lax and loose, while pale wings and light surrounded her on all sides.

Her eyes watered. It hurt. Everything hurt. She whimpered.

“Xaslem?” Gabriel’s voice was soft and quiet. “Are you with me?”

“Mm-hm.” She hummed, unable to nod.

“Do you want me to keep holding you?”

“Yes…” It was a whisper, barely audible.

He heard it all the same.

\---------


	32. Clipped

“Are you sure—”

“For the fifth time, yes.” Xaslem muttered where she sat on an ottoman out in the backyard. “If we don’t brush the soot out, it’ll get matted and rot, or I’ll get mites. Just… Just do it.”

Gabriel sighed, miracling a very soft brush into his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” She pulled her belt off and folded the strap of leather before sticking it in her mouth. With it clamped between her teeth, she nodded.

Where touching her wings had been a comfortable warmth, before, it now felt like sitting too close to a campfire. Burning hot, skirting the edge of pain. As he began carefully brushing the soot out of her plumage, her claws sank into the ottoman on either side of her legs, and her fangs punched clean through her belt. But she held still, save for a few errant trembles in her wings.

They were so dark, now. The deepest shade of black he had ever seen. It seemed to absorb light, now, rather than reflect it. A staunch silhouette. He couldn’t even see individual feathers unless they were standing out against something lighter, the lot of them blending together in a single inky mass.

Soot was carried away on the wind. Xaslem refused to breathe, knowing she would be sobbing and that he’d stop if he heard her. She wanted to, HAD to, get it over with. As much as it hurt, as lightheaded and sick as it made her feel, it needed to be done. If she didn’t, she ran the risk of losing her wings.

The left wing was done first, back and front, followed by the right. While the brush was quite soft, it still felt like her wings were on fire, burning horribly. After, the brush was tossed aside and he moved in front of her. Her face was wet with tears, bangs sticking to her sweat-slicked brow. Slowly, she dropped her belt and sucked in a shaking breath.

“There. It’s over. It’s done.” Gabriel murmured, cupping her face and brushing the tears away. “Deep breaths, sweetheart. Deep breaths.”

She sucked down some air, breaths shaking.

“If he wasn’t already dead…”

“I know. But he’s gone. Not my problem anymore.” She mustered a weak smile. “Y’know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“Doesn’t hurt as bad as the first time. The first time was… twice as bad, easy.” Xaslem sniffled, and shuddered. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me, too.” Gabriel’s expression softened, the angel pursing his lips a moment. “Is there anything I can do?”

“You’re doing it.”

“Let’s go inside, sweetheart. I think laying down would make you feel a bit better.”

She nodded.

\---------

Michael had heard about what had happened. Capturing and interrogating a lower demon had told her the succubus was now weakened. Now was the time for her trap.

Blade sharpened, human-made holy water in hand, she departed Heaven and made for the woods near the demon’s home. 

\---------  
When he woke up, he was alone. A bit refreshed. But alone.

Her former spot beside him was still warm. The covers were a mess, door still open.

She’d left in a hurry.

Something was wrong.

\---------

Xaslem hiccupped weakly. Her skin felt on fire. Her ears were ringing. She could feel the wash of sticky liquid along her back. Blood was on the air. And the cloying stench of demonic ichor. Her hands crinkled in the leaf-litter as she grabbed at them. She wanted to drag herself to safety. But she was too weak, and Michael’s foot still rested on her back.

Scowling, Michael tossed the severed wing aside with its counterpart. “You’ve no one to blame but yourself.”

As she raised her blade, she felt the familiar static of her twin’s Divine Fury, and a blade rested beside her neck. “Get away from her. Now.”

She didn’t. She remained, casting her brother a venomous side-eye.

Gabriel glowered at her. “I won’t say it again.”

Slowly, Michael moved off the demon, stepping back and aside as Gabriel put himself between the two. His sword remained trained on his sister. All six of his wings unfurled behind him, splayed wide in a clear display of threat and anger.

“You should leave.” He muttered, still glaring at her. “Before I forget myself.”

“Gabriel, you MUST let me kill her!” Michael objected. “It would end whatever hex she has on you! You could be free of her, or whatever bargain she tricked you into!”

Thunder roared around them as his corporation unraveled. Michael stared as his celestial form, that of an Arch-Cherub loomed over her, standing on long, birdlike legs. A sword brandished in each of his six hands. One shoulder bearing the face of a wolf, the other shoulder a ram, like a pair of pauldrons. Lightning crackling off the outward-facing spikes of his halo, the large ring sweeping back from his brow in an impressive crest. Runes glowed blindingly bright on each feather of his wings. Every language ever written and ever to be written gleamed on his plumage.

That great form, twenty feet tall, leaned down over her with an unmoving face like a baroque mask – resembling his corporation’s face – mounted on a flexible and birdlike neck with a mane of feathery silver locks. Lightning arched down to strike and skitter along his wings, but it caused him no pain. At the center of his chest was a bright light. Brighter than his eyes, than the sun, than any human eye could look upon without going blind. A pure light, brimming with Grace.

“DO I LOOK BEWITCHED TO YOU?!” Divine Fury boomed in his voice. The surrounding trees began to smoke. “LEAVE!”

Michael had never feared her brother. No once… until that day. She froze, eyes wide. She took a step back, and in a flash of light, she was gone.

Slowly, Gabriel turned to Xaslem. He shifted back, sinking into his human corporation and kneeling beside her. He glanced aside to where her wings now lay, severed upon the ground, and he had to look away as a sick, visceral feeling twisted in his stomach. The air reeked of ozone from his power, and charcoal from demonic ichor.

“Xaslem,” Gabriel leaned over her, “I’m going to get you to safety. I’ll heal you. Understand?”

She whimpered, still clutching handfuls of leaves. Her body was too weak to even tremble anymore. A sob escaped her as his jacket was draped over her, and she cried out when she was turned and pulled against him. She grabbed at his clothes.

“I’ve got you. Just hang on.”

\---------

A sudden boom shaking the building made Crowley tumble off the couch with a shocked cry. Aziraphale had nearly dropped his book. Nearly. As it were, they could both sense an angel and a demon. And the unmistakable scent of burning charcoal had them both rushing downstairs.

Aziraphale halted by the bottom stair, one hand on the railing and the other covering his mouth. Crowley paused at his side and gaped. 

Gabriel knelt in the middle of the bookshop floor, cradling Xaslem against him. Her legs were tucked up against her body. One of her hands clutched at the Archangel’s shirt, her head craned down to rest under his chin. He had his arms around her, one across her mid-back and the other hand splayed between her shoulders.

His jacket was draped across her back… and two very distinct stains rested over her shoulder-blades. Soaked through with red and metallic silver. Her clothes were wet as if she’d fallen in a pond.

Healer’s instincts kicking in, Crowley rushed closer.

“No, don’t!” Gabriel snapped, wings unfurling to cocoon her.

He halted, eyes wide as he stared at his older sibling.

“Her clothes… She had holy water thrown on her—”

“How is she alive?!”

Aziraphale moved closer, coaxing his husband aside. “Human-made holy water is weaker. Works similar to unholy wire, I believe. Gabriel, please tell me… her wings…”

The Archangel swallowed hard, gazing down at the demon in his arms, a few tears sliding down his cheeks. And in that look, the shorter Cherub understood.

“I… I see. Here. Get her upstairs. We need to get the bleeding under control. Crowley, dear, I need you to warm some towels and get ready to help us once we get her dried off.”

\---------

Tending Xaslem was a blur. Somewhere along the line, she’d passed out. Aziraphale had Gabriel support her weight and hold her while he cleaned and miracled traces of holy water off her. Crowley then moved in and did the majority of the healing – between his former angelic sphere, and his status as a demon, healing the injuries was easier for him. With Xaslem resting against his chest, Gabriel gazed down over her shoulder, at her back.

Two fresh, jagged, vaguely starburst scars rested where her wings would be connected to her body, otherwise. A dull but very metallic silver.

“When will she… When will her wings…” Gabriel trailed off, afraid to ask.

“Gabe… This was done with a Celestial blade.” Crowley frowned at him, voice gentle. “They won’t grow back.”

“I… I understand.” His gaze fell, eyes a bright silvery purple with an emotional intensity that didn’t fully show on his face, probably because he didn’t know how to express it. He nuzzled the top of Xaslem’s head, gaze downcast. “I was too late.”

“If you were too late, she’d be dead.”

“I should’ve—”

“Done what?” He snapped, quietly and halfheartedly. “She lost so much ichor already… She wouldn’t have made it if you decided to fight instead of helping her. You did the RIGHT thing. Understand?”

After a moment, he nodded. No sooner than the conversation finished, Aziraphale emerged from the guest bedroom of the flat – a room that, previously, had been for appearances only, and for rare instances before the failed apocalypse when Crowley would sleep over.

“Alright. The bed’s been made, and I set a water-bottle to get the covers heated up.” The shorter angel wrung his hands. “You’re both welcome to stay as long as you need.”

Gabriel glanced around, only to look at the shorter angel, whom handed him a throw-blanket to cover Xaslem’s modesty. The smaller demon was scooped up and carried, and laid down in the softness of the guest bed.

“Gabe?”

He turned, seeing Crowley in the doorway.

“She’ll have some phantom-sensations, and some pain. She’ll think she can still feel them. When you tell her… do it gently as you can. Okay?”

The Archangel nodded. “Thank you. Both of you.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale nodded. “I think we could all do with some tea. I could make you coffee if you prefer?”

Another nod, and Gabriel sat down beside the unconscious demon.

\---------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Inspired by this picture. (https://www.pinterest.com/pin/696158054886594138/) I know the pic is Crowley + Aziraphale, but I kept imagining this scene with Gabriel and Xaslem. So yeah.


	33. The Bargain

“Xaslem?”

No response. The demon was on the couch, curled on her side, facing the back of the sofa. She had barely moved in the three days they had been home. Didn’t speak much. Occasionally forced down some tea. Gabriel didn’t know what to do or say. But he stayed close by. She mostly slept, or cried quietly at the pain and loss.

He couldn’t imagine what she was going through. And it was clear Heaven was growing more desperate. Or, at least, Michael was.

They were still waiting for word from Beelzebub. The last “summons” had been a trap, after Rosier had stolen Dagon’s phone. He was honestly hoping it was a long wait, given the state Xaslem was in. She was safest here, in the barrier she had erected.

His phone buzzed in his hands as he looked for ways to lower the demon’s stress. A text message appeared with a number his demonic-miracled phone didn’t recognize, but one he knew very well. It was Michael’s number.

G

We need to talk. Meet me at the airfield.

M

Gritting his teeth, he glanced aside. Xaslem was asleep, snoring softly. As quiet as he could manage, he stood, pulled the throw-blanket over her, kissed her temple, and left.

\---------

“You’re lucky Xaslem’s alright, or I might actually want to fight you.” Gabriel heaved a sigh, halting a couple yards from her. “Why did you ask me to come here, Michael?”

“Heaven is nearing a civil war.” She told him, hip cocked, hands clasped before her. “Did you know? Do you even care?”

“Do I…? What kind of question is that?! Of course I care!”

“It’s a kind of question one asks the person who caused all this.”

“Michael, I walked in on them conspiring! Metatron tried to kill me! The war was intended to wipe out all humans, all demons, so that he could maintain full control of Heaven! He was the usurper, not Lucifer! And surely his recent behavior helps prove that! Why are you being so stubborn about this?!”

“Because you consort with a demon! Taking favors from one to acquire equipment is one thing. But socializing? Living with one?! That’s crossing a line!”

“And it’s a line I should’ve crossed a long time ago.”

Michael stared at him, emotional intensity driving her eyes to brighten into a brilliant seafoam hue.

“How sad is it that my own sister refuses to believe me, when the demon I cast down myself does?! When that demon has saved my life, and my sanity! You’ve seen what’s happening! I just…! I can’t fathom why you’re…!” His own gaze brightened to a glowing silvery amethyst.

In silence, unseen, Xaslem hid against the corner of the building. She couldn’t believe he was being this stupid, putting himself in danger like this. She also couldn’t believe what an idiot Michael was.

“Do you know how hard it’s been, having to depend on people whose lives I’ve ruined? Having to face the fact I was wrong? How hard it is to know my own sister, my twin, gave Metatron UNHOLY WIRE to use on me?! He would’ve carted me straight to execution, and it wouldn’t have been quick like Aziraphale’s! And that only would’ve gone quick because I insisted it be merciful! That doesn’t bother you?!”

Michael glared at him, wisps of Divine Fury slithering along her arms like liquid light or a solar flare. “You upset the natural order!”

“A natural order that should have never been put in place! And you knew! We knew the entire time and we were all too afraid to admit it!” Gabriel snapped, his own Divine Fury sparking along his shoulders before he took a deep breath, calming himself. “Well, I see this is getting me nowhere. I wonder why I even bothered.”

Her eyes widened as he turned away, intending to go a safer distance away before teleporting. She called her sword to her hand. “Don’t you walk away from me!”

Xaslem snapped her fingers. Shortcut herself in front of him. There was a wet crunch. Pain. Her gaze fell and her knees gave out.

Whipping around, Gabriel watched in horror as Xaslem fell to her knees. Human blood and demonic ichor dribbled down the blade that had run her through. So much of it. He shouted her name, rushing to her. The sword was pulled free and tossed away before he turned her, one arm supporting her shoulders as the other cupped her face.

“Xaslem? Xaslem!”

Blood and ichor poured from the corners of her mouth like mercury. Her eyes were glassy, pupils creeping wider. The air smelt like charcoal.

Michael stared with wide eyes as Gabriel tried healing the demon. The demon he had cast down, and she had clipped the wings of.

A demon who had thrown herself into a sword… to save an angel.

The healing did nothing. Between a holy blade and the sheer damage, there was little if any hope. The edges of the wound that had run her through the heart was starting to crumble into ash and embers, revealing a flickering jade green light within. Her very core, extinguishing.

“No… No, no, no… Sweetheart, you can make it! You can…! Don’t leave me!”

Too late. Normally pretty jade irises were greyed out, and eclipsed by dilated pupils. The bleeding had stopped… because her heart had stopped. The glow of her core faded out entirely. He continued pouring energy into her, but the healing warmth only kept the crumbling, decaying rot at bay. Michael stared as Gabriel closed the demon’s eyes and rested his brow against hers, tears glinting on his face.

“Very good, Michael.” A familiar voice intoned behind her.

She didn’t have to look to recognize Metatron. She couldn’t look away. Not from this. Not even as the sword was pressed into her hand, his arms around her from behind and closing her fingers round the handle of woven leather.

“Now, finish it.”

Finish it. Metatron wanted her to kill Gabriel. Something she’d almost done in a fit of pique.

More sickening… was how Gabriel looked up at her. He didn’t flee. Didn’t get ready to fight. He simply sat, waiting for the end with a hollow look in his now dark, almost onyx-colored eyes. Holding the demon that had saved him and looked out for him when his own sister had not.

Fingers tight to keep from shaking, Michael lifted the blade. Metatron stepped back, removing his arms from her so she could swing.

Metatron shouted as a sword tore across his chest. His wings unfurled and a single, might flap propelled him backwards out of danger. Clutching his chest, he stared wide-eyed at Michael. She had turned, taking a defensive stance between him and Gabriel.

She watched as silvery, iron-colored ichor dribbled from the wound alongside blood. The scent of his ichor was stronger, like wildfire smoke, and his eight wings were blacker than the dark of space, reeking of brimstone. Claws had come out, black and sharp. Her eyes widened as proof finally fell onto a silver platter before her.

“You dare…?!” Metatron snarled, and once misty light – now darkened with ethereal soot – surrounded him. “This isn’t over!”

Michael watched him shoot upwards, disappearing into the clouds, back to Heaven. Her sense of victory, of acknowledging the truth, faded as soon as she turned.

Gabriel’s gaze drifted down to the being in his arms, his Grace still preserving her body. He couldn’t sense her, anymore. There was a void, an emptiness, where her usual constant thrum was. Cold. Empty. His whole body felt numb. Hollow. Like before he had been cast out. Just… nothingness. He felt his own core starting to crack under the weight of her absence. Starting to implode.

There came a sound of a motorcycle revving. Distant, but quickly getting closer.

It came into view from between the buildings, the Horseman of Death bringing the machine to a slow, gliding halt. Michael glanced between them as the figure put the kickstand down and dismounted. He reached behind him, beneath his leather jacket, drawing his scythe from an unseen abyss. He strode closer, just out of reach for either of them.

“Gabriel.” The figure spoke softly. Almost sympathetically.

His grip tightened on the demon’s body, panicked gaze rising to the reaper. “No. She’s… You can’t…”

He stepped closer, hand reaching out.

Gabriel hugged the demon to him. “Azrael, please!”

Azrael hesitated, the Archangel of Death regarding him from behind his helmet’s visor.

“Please. Anything. I’ll do anything. I’ll give anything. That blow was meant for me, not her.”

“Anything.” He repeated tonelessly.

“Yes. Anything.” Gabriel stared up at him.

“Your life? Your wings?” Azrael rested the point of his scythe’s blade beneath the Arch-Cherub’s chin. “Your incessant pride? Your very Grace?”

He unfurled his wings behind him, all six, and held them out straight behind, ready to be severed or otherwise taken away. He didn’t care if he could never fly again. Didn’t care if he Fell. Didn’t even care if he died. None of that mattered. 

“Yes. All of it.” Gabriel reiterated without hesitation. “Anything. Everything.”

Michael stared in sordid horror at the desperation of it. Desperation she’d only seen in humans, and demons. Never a self-respecting angel, whom were above such things. Was this even her brother, talking?

After regarding him a moment, Azrael pulled his scythe-blade back, and with upmost precision, dragged the dull side up Gabriel’s cheek, catching tears that glowed soft lavender with Grace. Then, he turned the scythe’s blade, the liquid running down metal to drip off the point… into the crater in Xaslem’s chest.

There came a sputtering crackle like muted fireworks. The lilac glow of Grace faded green like Xaslem’s inner Hellfire, sparking it back to life. Traces of blood and ichor evaporated like sooty mist. The wound began to knit shut, flesh and bone healing from the inside-outwards with a hiss. Michael watched as the lowest pair of her sibling’s wings began to… unravel, or fall apart, a shower of feathers scattering on the wind and disappearing in sputtering sparks.

She only understood when she saw a pair of soft, black wings fall from the ether to unfold softly from the demon’s back. The shape had changed to that of the demon’s former wings, but the coloration mirrored Gabriel’s. A glossy, warm black with raven undersides that reflected vivid orchid purple in the light. The Archangel of Death rested his scythe over his shoulder.

“I will only oblige this once.” Azrael warned him. “I suggest the two of you be more careful.”

The Arch-Cherub barely heard him, feeling and seeing Xaslem’s corporation start breathing out of reflex, her skin going warm again. Sensing her again, filling up that void the sudden loss had left, seeping into every crack and covering every fresh wound of grief like a balm. Alive, and asleep. There was a whisper in the back of his mind. A garbled, nonsensical reassurance. He mentally called to her, reached to her. And he could tell she felt it.

Briefly, a small smile tugged at Azrael’s mind before he turned to look at Michael. Anger and disgust radiated off the reaper’s aura, sweeping her way, and he made no attempts to hide it.

“And I have nothing to say to YOU, betrayer.” Azrael sneered, and turned to his motorcycle.

A wave of the reaper’s hand dismissed his scythe. He mounted, started up his motorcycle, and revved it a few times for good measure before flicking the kickstand back up and driving off, disappearing back the way he had come and fading out like a mirage.

Gabriel pushed Xaslem’s bangs from her face. “I’m going to take you home, sweetheart.”

A wave of his hand folded her wings down into the ether, and he folded his own away before standing, holding her up bridal fashion.

“Gabriel—”

“Don’t.” He glared at his sibling, tears still coming. “I don’t care what you think or believe, Michael. I NEVER want to see you again. And if you ever come near Xaslem again… I’ll kill you.”

Throat tight, she watched as lightning flashed… leaving her alone in the airfield.

\---------

Xaslem wasn’t sure what came back first.

Everything seemed to just drift into awareness all at once. The scent of Gabriel and his cologne. Warmth all around her. Music playing softly. Music he didn’t even like. That was… That was HER playlist, actually. Her favorites, playing at a low and relaxing volume on her phone.

She felt arms around her body, her form resting against a strong chest as she sat straddling someone’s lap. And she felt… a very familiar weight draping from her back. She took a deep breath, feeling the stretch of her chest. When she spoke, her voice came out as tired and floaty as her mind felt.

“Gabriel…?”

“I’m here, sweetheart.” He said, and she felt him kiss the top of her head.

“Mmh…” She winced.

“How do you feel?”

“Sore. Tired. … Had a really crazy dream.”

He tensed. “Xaslem, you… Do you remember what happened?”

“Yeah. I shortcut myself in front of you.”

His hand stroked her back.

“I… heard you. Calling to me.” Xaslem muttered, brows furrowing as her eyes finally slid open. “I could… FEEL you, for lack of better term. And for that matter… I can feel my wings.”

They moved, shifting to a more upright position, and she was able to lean back to get a better look at him. “Xaslem, you died. Azrael came for you.”

“I know. What stopped him?”

“I told him I’d do anything.” His expression was open. Honest. Vulnerable. His gaze was fierce and bright enough that his eyes seemed to glow.

Her own expression softened as he continued to babble for a moment.

“I was… I was WEEPING Grace. And he took his scythe and… I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it. But he… he took a pair of my wings. And… they’re yours, now.”

Xaslem’s eyes widened. Curious, she reached for that familiar sensation and unfurled them. The shape was hers, and the coloration had shifted back to hers in her sleep, but with an addition. A soft, curious little sound left her as she brushed her fingers over the purple-glinting patch of inner coverts. Whether that was binding or just poetic – it was always hard to tell with Azrael – she couldn’t say. But she found herself smiling at Gabriel. A surprised sound left him as she leaned in, arms winding round his shoulders. His own wings opened up, encircling her. He pulled back just enough to look at her.

“Never scare me like that again.” He huffed, frowning.

She pouted at him. “Then stop putting yourself in danger, idiot.”

A pause. “I’ll try.”

Xaslem paused a long moment. “Me, too.”

The demon brushed the pad of her thumb across his chin before leaning up, pressing her lips to his. It was soft. Dreadfully romantic. And chaste. As much as she wanted to, she was tired and sore, and touch was still new to him. They’d had enough excitement for a bit. When she pulled away, he had a blank, almost starstruck look on his face and a noticeable blush.

“Thank you.” She hugged him again, nestling into his embrace.

“You’re welcome.” His arms on her tightened a bit and he nuzzled her neck. “Always.”

\---------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another batch of chapters. But I need to take a little break after this. Trying to work on my own novel or a bit. But this has been a good writing exercise thus far! And don't worry. Like all my stories, I will come back to it sooner or later. I just really need the break, lol... ^-^'


End file.
